The Rising Hysteria of Miss Elizabeth Bennet
by StoryLady
Summary: While the Bennet sisters are at Netherfield, scarlet fever strikes at Longbourn. Elizabeth's grief may cause her to act erratically, but what's Mr. Darcy's motive for lending a surprising- and seemingly reluctant- hand to treat her 'female hysteria'. Copyright 2017.
1. Chapter 1

**The Rising Hysteria of Miss Elizabeth Bennet (Third edit)**

While the Bennet sisters are staying at Netherfield they receive bad news about their father's health. Elizabeth's grief may cause her to act erratically. But what's Mr. Darcy's excuse?

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Mr. Darcy had never seen her so melancholy. It was not in her nature. Elizabeth's posture on the sofa was informal, to say the least: one leg on the seat, her body twisted away from him. She rested her chin on her forearms, folded over the back of a chaise longue as she stared out the window.

Darcy took a moment in the doorway to decide how he would approach her at this awkward time: when in doubt, he would always retreat into himself, but found he could not now do nothing. He quickly schooled his face into its usual inscrutable frown. He took a breath, preparing to present himself with a stiff expression of condolence, when her shuddering sigh pulled him up short.

This one sound overcame his caution. Elizabeth's evident distress discomposed him sufficiently to forget his affected indifference. Seeking only to be useful, he strode to the couch, forgetting even to announce himself and neglecting to decide what he would do once he got there. He halted a few steps from her and her start on noticing him, and confusion on peering up at his imposing form, brought him back to his senses. _Lud! What now?_ Should he pull back from her and don his mask once more? With a self-conscious cough, he clasped both hands behind his back, aware of her growing unease. _Quick, stop staring, man!_ He should go to the window- that always helped.

Elizabeth witnessed the tumult in his eyes, still glued to her face, and mistook it for pure sympathy. This display of emotion and sensitivity from such a cold, stoic man caught her off guard, so that she momentarily forgot her resolve to offend him at every opportunity.

"I…", Darcy tried, still staring down at her, before abandoning that thought. Elizabeth took up the mantle of conversation in his stead.

"I came in here for a change of scenery- to think. My sister is asleep", Elizabeth stated simply. Her tone was neither confrontational nor conciliatory and she gazed at him openly. She didn't have the energy for hidden meanings.

She was at her lowest, unable to console or find consolation in her family. Only Jane was immediately available and she was too ill to spend much time awake, never mind offer her sister any support. Elizabeth had given her only the barest details: that Longbourn had been infected with scarlet fever, that Papa and Mary were gravely ill and that the doctor had put the house under quarantine. The note Doctor Verney had sent last night did not give Elizabeth much hope of recovery, for her father at any rate, though she spared Jane the knowledge that they would probably never see him again. She could only imagine the hysterics and flutterings in which her mother was indulging at this very moment, and her relief at missing the performance mingled with immediate guilt at such an uncharitable feeling.

She was roused from her musings by Mr. Darcy's voice. "Miss Bennet, I was sorry to hear about your family's… situation." He could see her face fall at his vague words and stilted delivery.

There had been a moment in his regard of true, albeit wordless, understanding, she had thought, and now _Mr. Darcy of Pemberley_ , killjoy extraordinaire, was back. Turning her head from him she sighed again. "You are too kind, sir." She must have been desperate for comfort, to look to him.

Indeed, he was desperate to provide it and had wits enough to recognise what was needed, little though he knew how to provide it. Hesitant to start, Darcy took a seat on the chaise longue, all intentions of fleeing to the window now forgotten.

"I know… when my father died… '' Here her head whipped around to glare at him for daring to allude to the event that she knew so overwhelmingly likely.

"I felt terribly guilty for not having come home from Cambridge sooner". Mr. Darcy rushed through this, though it hardly seemed to help, as her scowl deepened. Nothing was going as it ought. After a few moments of frosty silence, he spoke again.

"I would ease this burden for you, if I could".

There. He had said it, and surprised himself in the expressing of it. He managed to meet her eyes when she turned to face him, though he was certain he was flying his colours in embarrassment **(1)**. Elizabeth had never witnessed such open sincerity from the man before and, realising that he had been waiting for a response for some moments, rewarded him with a minute smile.

"I thank you. I must confess, I find this endless waiting to be a torment." With this she was quiet again, though without the previous undercurrent of hostility. Darcy was composing his thoughts for another advance, buoyed by his recent success. However, before he could engage her again, a rather uncertain footman entered the library and delivered a letter into Miss Elizabeth's hand. She accepted it mechanically and silently as her whole body stiffened as she stared at the black seal **(2)**.

Darcy dismissed the servant, Elizabeth having forgotten to do so. When he returned his eyes to her, she had opened and was reading the letter, her breathing shallow, her plump lips parted. Darcy was mesmerised, thinking all the while that he should leave her to her correspondence. That is until she collapsed, sobbing, with her head in her hands, the note forgotten on the floor.

She was oblivious to anything around her and had practically fallen off the seat. Eyeing the open door, Darcy dreaded the thought of Miss Bingley coming on the scene and the snide approximation of sympathy that she would extend. Without further deliberation, he crossed the room, closed and locked the door and quickly resumed his place on the chaise longue, perhaps sitting a little closer than before. Elizabeth gave no indication that she had been aware of any of this and continued to cry heedlessly.

Now Darcy was stumped: every fibre in him was focused on her, but unable to act. He was reminded of his sister's reaction when he had informed her of their father's death. But that was different. He had scooped her up on his lap and held her, head tucked under his chin; it had been natural and instinctive to console her with such physical comfort. He could not do that now.

Yet, as Elizabeth cried, he felt drawn towards her. His hand stretched out to touch her, about to make contact– his fingertips barely grazing the muslin of her gown. Darcy pulled back suddenly as Elizabeth sat up and turned to him. She was now so close that he could see the yellow flecked in the irises of her eyes. Tears streamed down her face and he had never seen anything more beautiful. He wanted to wipe them away, kiss them away, but he didn't. He would have settled for touching her in any way, but he didn't.

"I am sorry you had to witness this humiliating display", Elizabeth managed to say through her sobs. She had gained some control over her tears and went to move away. Darcy thought that she meant to quit the room and, somehow, he had to stop her.

"Your father is dead, I take it," he said rather than asked, his voice flat and lifeless.

A beat of silence followed. Elizabeth nearly laughed at this, too distraught to take offense at Mr. Darcy's lack of tact. "Yes", she replied concisely. All weeping had ceased and a heavy stillness settled between them.

"I do not think I can bear it", she eventually confessed. Darcy was not insensible to her small, fearful voice.

"I perfectly comprehend your feelings," he replied. "I was younger than you when my mother passed away; I thought my heart would burst in my chest". Elizabeth made no reply. Even in her grief, Elizabeth recognised the vulnerability Darcy had just displayed, and that it was done for her relief.

For his part, Darcy thought nothing of his behaviour, hardly aware of the intimacy of what he had said, though, if he had , he would have been shocked by his own candour. Presently, all his thoughts were of her: his sorrow for her loss; his need to help her; to comfort her; to run his hand up her soft leg and lay her delicate quim open to him, as if peering into a newly shucked oyster.

 _Good God! What is the matter with you? She has just lost her father!_ He had never known till that moment what a selfish beast he truly was. To contemplate taking advantage of her in this state, for his own satisfaction, was despicable, but he could not stop himself. His mind wandered to imagine all the ways he could take her, from soft and sweet to hard and frantic like a dog on a bitch. An image of him pounding into her on the creaking sofa burned in his mind. _What a scoundrel you are!_

He knew then that he could never trust himself to console her as he had his sister and this knowledge brought a renewal of his previous hauteur; this time for her protection, rather than his. He sat up straighter, edging away from her, and bunched his fists in the tails of his frock coat. He refused even to glance at her, for fear of her reading his wicked thoughts.

Elizabeth hardly noticed. She was still pondering his words–how accurately they described her own feelings at that moment–and struggling with what insight they could give into the man who had uttered them.

"How did you endure it?" she breathed "Twice at such a young age! And with a sister to bring up." Darcy turned to her with an odd mix of feeling and propriety, deeply affected by her words, but desperate to hold on to the veneer of civility and control that he now recognised was oh so thin. He could not deny her a response, however.

"Miss Bennet, I can only tell you that, in my experience, there is no eluding these feelings of grief, as they are a reflection of the depth of your love for your father and are, therefore, to be cherished. I can say, however, that they will not always be this raw."

His eyes never left hers. That familiar expression flashed in them, which she now began to think she had never understood.

"The acute pain you now feel will dull with time. And you will gain moments of respite, when something will distract or amuse you and you can put aside your sorrows–if only for a little while at first."

Though he kept his distance, he almost shook with the effort to at once convey his feelings and hold them in check- a feat not aided by her attentive gaze. She was so beautiful and so sad. He had to do something; something for her. He knew what he wanted to do, what might give her a few minutes' relief from the crushing weight, but could he go through with it?

Darcy, though remarkably clever, and known to be a logical, analytical man, was not without moments of self-delusion: it allowed him to justify his selfish arrogance, yet be the consummate landlord and guardian: it allowed him to sneer at Mrs. Bennett's transparent match-making, without bringing to mind his own Aunt's machinations; and, in this moment, it allowed him to give in to his basest desires, all the while calling it mercy.

It was more than the work of a moment for him to screw up his courage and the quiet that ensued allowed Elizabeth to sink into a bleak stupor, staring unseeingly into the fire. Having finally made his decision, Darcy felt strangely calm. He was nothing if not always prepared and took a moment to consider the logistics of the thing, as well as the constraints he must set on his own behaviour, without which he would surely be lost.

Finally he was ready to proceed and spoke with authority. "Miss Bennet, I believe that I know of a way to ease your mind, for a short while, at least. Would you lie back on the chair and close your eyes". Much to his relief, she obeyed without so much as a questioning look, perhaps due to her state of shock, he surmised. She lay with her head on the back of the chaise longue, her upper body raised, knees bent. Darcy took a moment to study her. Her breasts were doing interesting things in this new position and her feet were resting just inches from his thigh. Everything between was covered by her gown, its skirts draped from her joined knees. He could see the shape of her lower legs outlined by the material; the excess of which pooled on the sofa between her feet, which were the width of the couch apart. Taking one final glance at Elizabeth's face, Darcy could see that her mind was elsewhere and her eyes were still closed, which was just as well.

Carefully, he lifted her skirt, just enough to slip his hand underneath- he would not look! He did not want to touch her yet, and carefully inched his hand forward. The moment he reached her nether regions, her eyes flew open with a sharp inhalation and her hand clutched the edge of the chair in panic. Luckily, he had made land in roughly the correct spot and only a flick of his wrist was needed to have his middle finger on that small bulge he had expected to find- her exposed clitoris. He immediately set to work in small circles with a steady pulse and pressure, aware that he had only a limited time to make an impact, so to speak, before she objected in the most violent fashion.

Elizabeth had been uncharacteristically incurious as to what he was up to until she felt a warm strong finger- down there! Her eyes shot open and she gaped up at him, ready to propel herself from the chair. What she saw confused her. He was not even looking at her, but focused on the Oriental rug in front of the fire. Darcy seemed to be concentrating, brows faintly drawn. His expression was one he might wear reading the newspaper at breakfast. He was sitting diagonally on the couch, but his pose was quite formal: every body part that he could, he had faced away from her, his head, his knees, his feet; his back was straight, though leaning slightly towards her to reach his target and his left hand was resting on his right thigh, as his right had now settled into a rather pleasing rhythm between her legs, Elizabeth had to admit. Far from appearing lecherous or lascivious, Darcy's demeanour suggested that he found the whole endeavour to be mundane–tedious even–if not a little distasteful.

Having initially wriggled away from his touch, only for him to hold firm in his contact, Elizabeth now decided to remain perfectly still until she could catch his eye. Her strategy failed, as he refused to look at her, though she was sure he could feel her scrutiny. All the while a certain feeling was creeping up on her and was mounting all the time. She had to do something, she knew, but it was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on what that something should be. When thinking back later, Elizabeth would tell herself that she had been incapacitated by Mr. Darcy's ministrations–and indeed she was–but what she could not admit was that, moments before this happened, she had made a decision, a (mostly) lucid decision, to let this thing that was happening to her happen.

Darcy noticed the release of tension that accompanied this decision and had to hold back a smile when, from the corner of his eye, he saw her head loll slightly on the arm of the couch. He began to subtly increase the pace of his finger circling her nub, encouraged by the surge of moisture he now felt. Within seconds, Elizabeth was in a world of her own, the centre of which being her cunt. Without any experience with which to compare it, she nevertheless felt that something was coming, and that that something, when it came, would be overwhelming.

An initial tingle had turned to steady heat under his caress. This was now punctuated by jolts of exquisite discomfort, which made it difficult to stay still on the sofa. In the back of her mind, she felt embarrassed by her body's betrayal in enjoying this, but was taking far too much pleasure from Mr. Darcy's treatment to pay much attention to that sentiment. As she rolled closer to a conclusion, the spasms of her body became more and more pronounced, until Darcy was forced to reach across with his left hand and hold her down at the hip. She now resorted to thrashing her head spasmodically and releasing brief, guttural outbursts to gain relief.

Darcy knew, better than herself, that she was very close to finishing and chanced a glimpse at her face. Though her eyes were open, they were blinking furiously, surveying the ornate ceiling, of which Darcy was certain she took in not a single detail. He was now free to observe her body; her breasts rose and fell in the most alarming fashion and threatened to escape their restraints. His mouth watered at the very sight of them. He dared not move his eyes to that gap in her skirts where his arm disappeared, nor concentrate too deeply on the feel of her soft body in his left hand or her wet pussy in his right.

Elizabeth's breathing suddenly slowed and deepened, leaving her body in low, throaty exhalations, whose pitch and speed rose gradually until she was panting in a stuttering cadence. Raising her head from where it rested, she inhaled one final, sharp breath and held it for an interminable moment as she stared upward, mouth open in an unuttered scream. Darcy looked on in amazement. She finally snapped and released her breath with a lengthy, bewildered moan, as the forceful shiver she felt in her groin pumped through her body–right to the tips of her fingers and toes. It brought with it the effect of sheer, contented exhaustion; her head and limbs collapsed–her right arm slipping off the chair–as her mind floated away.

While Elizabeth drifted, Darcy benefitted from no such relief and knew that he must be the first to compose himself, though he was currently still moving in slow circles on her engorged bud. Realising what he was doing, he hastily removed his hand whilst ensuring her modesty. Ramrod-straight now, and facing the fire, he groped for something to say. He happened to glance down at his hand, and notice the moisture-puckered flesh on the pad of his middle finger. How he longed to take it into his mouth and taste her.

He shot out of the chair to the fireplace, placing both hands on the mantle as he leaned into it, endeavouring to gain command over his thoughts and body, before turning around. Elizabeth began gradually to recollect where she was and went to sit up in the chair and make herself more presentable, though she was still considerably affected by Mr. Darcy's attentions.

Mr. Darcy finally felt master of himself enough to turn around. That Elizabeth was dazed was plain to see, though Darcy could not tell whether it was for the better or the worse. Once her befuddlement subsided, and she came to be mindful of her actions, it was her turn to avoid his eyes. He regarded her insistently, leaning forward marginally, with hands behind his back, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

She finally raised her eyes by degrees: first to his brown-top boots, which were pointed towards her, as she had feared; then to his midsection; and quickly to his face, when she realised that she had become fixated on his crotch. This only added to the anxiety apparent in her expression. Darcy seemed as stony-faced as ever, until she looked closer: his jaw was clenched and his chin jutted out as he scrutinised her with an intensity which caused the usually poised Elizabeth to shiver under his gaze. He seemed to be between two minds, his agitation growing. Darcy's nostrils flared due to the heaviness of his breathing, which was not justified by the activity in which he had just partaken. Her own breathing had yet to return to regularity, and their chests heaved in sympathy from ten feet apart. Finally, he broke eye contact, bowed rather formally, and muttered, "Miss Bennett", before turning to walk out of the room, surreptitiously unlocking the door as he did so.

Casting her eyes about the library, Elizabeth could hardly believe what had happened. She did not know what to think or how to account for Mr. Darcy's, or indeed her own, behaviour. She could see that everything in the room was just as it had been half an hour before and, in the absence of Mr. Darcy, would have convinced herself that the encounter had never taken place, were it not for the pleasantly sensitive throbbing in her private parts. She allowed herself a few minutes more to wallow in the physical bliss she still felt–eyes closed, head back–before rising from the couch, letter in hand, and leaving the room to deliver the heart-breaking news to Jane.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

 **1)** To fly your colours: blush

 **2)** Letters bringing news of a death would be sealed with black wax to forewarn the recipient of the bad news.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Of course she did not go to the funeral: it would be neither proper nor safe, as scarlet fever was still rife in the village. That had been a week ago; they were still confined to Netherfield and could be for weeks to come. Elizabeth did not know when she could visit her father's grave.

Jane had, of course, had made a complete recovery: it was only a trifling cold, after all. She had borne the news of their father's death with all the poise that Elizabeth had expected, though while they remained in the bubble of Netherfield neither could truly mourn. The other occupants of the house did not know how to treat Elizabeth, who was the only Bennett in company for the first two days. Perhaps, Jane had suggested charitably, the situation brought back painful memories of their own parents' deaths. Even Miss Bingley's attacks on her were no longer forthcoming, replaced by cloying smiles that did not reach her eyes. Only Bingley made any effort to cheer Elizabeth. He passed an entire evening reminiscing with her by the fire, encouraging her to tell stories of her father and supplementing her tales with observations of his own, as far as he could, based on his limited acquaintance with the gentleman. Mr. Darcy, who had been a font of consolation mere days before, was ominously silent. That font had clearly dried up.

Jane appeared at breakfast a few days later, her pallor more due to her distress and lack of sleep than her lingering illness. Mr. Bingley's sisters were far more civil to her than they had been to Elizabeth and the man himself was practically levitating with the desire to be of service. He even left his place at the head of the table to sit by her, scooting his chair close to hers in a manner that flirted with impropriety. Nor could he be prised from her side for the rest of the day, causing the shooting to be cancelled with more than one grumble of dissention from Mr. Hurst. As for the other disappointed hunter in the group, he kept his own counsel.

Elizabeth had spent as little time with her sister as she reasonably could, since _The Incident in the Library_ , as she had titled it. She longed to lean on Jane, but every time they were alone feared exposing her secret. Even Jane, who had ever been her confidante, knew nothing about that event. Elizabeth had never before shied away from admitting her follies to her sister: they could often be heard late at night giggling under the covers over a foolish comment, or stumble in the quadrille, but this was a leap too far. Never before had Elizabeth done something so reckless, so _wanton_. She prided herself on being conversant with subjects not usually the domain of a gentleman's daughter and this had long made her her father's favourite, but she now had knowledge and experience that no respectable lady had any business with, and this intelligence had opened a rift between the sisters, from the moment that that dam had burst inside of her.

While her own behaviour mortified her, Darcy's vexed and puzzled her. She still could not understand his incentive to violate all of the social norms for which he seemed to stand. He certainly had not taken any pleasure in the situation, based on his demeanour. She was, after all, merely _tolerable_. He had prefaced his actions by telling her that he wanted to relieve her suffering, and for a time after the event, as she existed in a haze of agreeable recollection, she had been grateful and believed him implicitly. Doubt had seeped in, however, as shame had crawled up on her shoulder and whispered in her ear. If Mr. Darcy had done a good deed, why did she feel such shame? _And how could something so shameful feel that good?_

Whatever the impetus for his actions, his composure in the ensuing days made it plain that Mr. Darcy did not feel the guilt that she did and Elizabeth envied his easy mind. Even now, as they sat in the music room politely listening to Miss Bingley's third piece of the evening, his pose was relaxed- unperturbed, if not a little bored- while Elizabeth wanted to crawl out of her skin every time her mind wandered to that scene in the library, which it very often did. She wanted him to be disturbed, to be affected by what had happened- no, by what he had done- not sit there self-assuredly as if he had not lately had his hand up her skirt.

He had not spoken three words to her since walking out of the library door. He watched her, as he had always done: at times, furtively, when he believed no one saw and, on occasion, he did so openly- intensely- his lips pressed thin and his eyes dark. Had the lady recognised the torrent of passions raging inside Darcy, she need not have been troubled by his lack of dolour.

As had ever been her wont, she took his interest for distain. Did he think he was so much above her that he could molest her without consequence and then think less of her for it? Of course... he could. She would not even confide in her own sister and her father, as unlikely a protector as he had been, was now dead. She could not reveal what had happened without risking her reputation and, not for the first time, she wished she was a man. Then, she would have the satisfaction of ensuring that Mr. Darcy got his comeuppance and have no need to fear society's condemnation in doing so. But she was not a man. A man too, would have known what was coming when he had asked her to lie on the couch. Oh, she was so foolish! In truth, she had thought Mr. Darcy incapable of contemplating, never mind acting on, such an intention. In her naiveté, she still did not know what _it_ was called, whether it was common practice for men to do this, or Darcy's own particular proclivity.

 _Good God! Mr, Bingley is not doing this to Jane is he?_ _He did say something about providing every possible assistance!_

Elizabeth had been shielded from such information- at once protected from and made vulnerable to such treatment. She was a woman; a woman whom Mr. Darcy had decided to ruin with knowledge and experience that she could never erase. The weight of this awareness had detached her from polite society, she felt, as she viewed the world she had always known through a pane of cloudy glass.

She did succeed in keeping her composure- and held her peace. Nobody would learn what had happened from her; if any of this was found out, she would be shunned, positively unmarriageable, and ruin her sisters' chances to boot, while Darcy would gain rather than lose a reputation, and not an altogether negative one. This sobering idea brought her to contemplate her family's position, now that her father was dead. In truth, they had likely been unmarriageable in any case: Longbourn was entailed to some distant cousin; He was not known personally to the family and they could not rely on his charity. They would have to manage on the interest from their mother's five thousand pounds and that woman and any spinster daughters would be a weighty consideration for any prospective suitor. As for their dowries, they were so small as to be almost negligible to any acceptable gentleman. Were they to lower their sights, they would find themselves equally undesirable, for any man who would not baulk at their want of funds would live in a manner for which the Bennet sisters were unprepared and ill-equipped: they were imprisoned in a social order that left them at once too high and too low for any who might choose them.

These thoughts sometimes preyed on Elizabeth as she watched her sister and Mr. Bingley in quiet conversation. His continued attentions were comforting, nevertheless. Surely he was aware of their situation- as was the whole of Meryton, it seemed- and would not trifle with her so publically. His intentions must be honourable. She occasionally spotted Mr. Darcy in similar contemplation of the couple and knew that his thoughts would not be engaged in anticipation of their marital felicity. His commanding influence over Mr. Bingley concerned Elizabeth: she was certain that he would not be eager for Bingley to wed her sister.

Oddly, Mr. Darcy seemed to have softened towards Jane in the days since their father's death, all the while refusing to acknowledge Elizabeth. Though only a fraction as attentive as Mr. Bingley, Darcy exerted himself, in the first few days after her recovery, in particular, to engage Jane in conversation. More importantly, he also endeavoured to shield her from Miss Bingley's blunt pontifications on the horrors of mourning clothes and the fate of impoverished gentle women. This sensitivity on Mr. Darcy's part, far from placating Elizabeth, only served to enrage her further as she contrasted it with his treatment of herself. Even his stony glare, which she once had made a point of disregarding, now alternately intimidated or infuriated her, so that it was difficult to maintain a civilised manner. She began to feel that she resented him- hated him?- but she did not know what was more insufferable: that his already healthy contempt for her had increased; that he did not share her guilt over what they had done; or that she wanted him to do it again.

Elizabeth re-considered her own situation while ambling in the gardens the next day. She had always held a small hope that she would meet an amiable gentleman, who would persuade her into matrimony, but it was a very small hope and she would never be reconciled to a marriage of convenience. As such, her situation had not changed appreciably: she was still en route to spinsterhood, without the protection of a close male relative. She was hardly less likely to make a match than before, even after this.

It struck her as ironic that the only sexual experience she was ever likely to have had been at the hands (quite literally) of the austere and frigid Mr. Darcy.

* * *

Elizabeth was contemplating this fact with some diligence when the gentleman himself turned a corner in the path and almost walked straight into her. Darcy halted abruptly within a few feet of her and both recoiled in surprise, he rearing back and peering stiffly down at her. He said not a word and seemed to be waiting for her to speak. Well he could forget about that. Her umbrage at Mr. Darcy's behaviour had only grown and she was not about to inconvenience herself for him. She did not fear being alone with him, she was surprised to find, despite previous events. They continued to stare at each other, both, she was sure, exhibiting their displeasure, until, eventually, he broke the silence.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I was not aware that anyone was in this part of the gardens. I apologise for alarming you."

He spoke civilly, but his aloof manner was abrasive. What gall that man had, to stand there and speak so calmly after what he had done. He stopped there and she saw that he would say no more. Neither would he leave, until he had had the satisfaction of an answer. She would meet his effrontery with her own brand of insolence.

"Do not trouble yourself, sir. With these high borders and narrow paths it is easily done… if your mind is on other matters."

He seemed to flinch at this, before controlling his features once more. She had not scared him away, however, and gesturing with his hand, he signalled peremptorily that they take a path further into the garden. They stepped under a trained arch into the next section and continued side by side.

His voice, when he spoke, was nonchalant, but he had paused too long before responding to suggest indifference. "I suppose your mind is much preoccupied with your loss at present. However, I imagine time in such a tranquil setting as this," he gestured around them, "would do much to ease your mind." After a moment he slowed to a stop and turned to face her before continuing in a manner that, try as he might to restrain himself, betrayed some of his eagerness. "I trust you have found some relief from your tensions… while you have been here." He observed her closely to decipher the effect of his words.

Elizabeth was aware of his insinuation and keen gaze, and she felt that he was trying to rattle her. Incensed that he could make such an enquiry, she gave no answer, but looked away. She had no wish to continue their exchange, yet could not let him see that he had gotten the better of her. She resumed the path toward the next arch and ignored his query completely.

"And what brings you walking in the gardens, sir? I am used to think of you as a rider rather than a walker."

His confusion at her change of subject was fleeting. He caught up with her on the track and resolved to follow her lead and drop the topic.

"Yes, I suppose you are right. I do prefer to ride, but my horse is lame this morning and I must have some employment to take me out of doors."

 _To take you out of Miss Bingley's reach, you mean_. Elizabeth had a mind to tell her where he was; she would have him trapped out here, holding her flower basket, until luncheon.

They had come to the end of the arched path and now moved into an open area, sloping down to a charming pond that drew both their eyes and their feet. On reaching the edge, they wordlessly stopped and watched the dimples of insects skimming the water, though neither paid true attention: she was endeavouring to conceal and suppress her mortification; he, to covertly study her face increasingly wounded by her lack of attention to his well-meant enquiry. Elizabeth was about to excuse herself, still feeling the brunt of her disgruntlement towards him, when a stray glance at him surprised her. His earnest expression caught her attention and she was struck by how vulnerable he looked. Had he treated her better in the past, she may have been touched, but his confusing and disdainful conduct in general, and his gross violation in particular, had her too vexed to be compassionate. She was pitiless in her desire for revenge and wanted to discomfort him as he had her for the past week. Unsure as to how to proceed, she tried to draw him out in conversation.

"I suppose Pemberley is a paradise for such a pursuit. And your sister, does she often join you on these carefree mornings, galloping through your estate?"

"She comes to Pemberley but rarely, I am sorry to say. And I would hardly describe life as the master of an estate as carefree." To expose his pompous indignation was satisfying. Elizabeth would not satisfy it by responding.

"I suppose such interests are more properly the province of men, in any case. Does Miss Darcy play the pianoforte, or pursue any other, suitable, accomplishments?"

"Yes, she is very accomplished, if I do say so. She sings quite satisfactorily, she draws, and paints with a light, subtle style, her embroidery is exquisite and she speaks both Italian and French fluently. But music is her true passion. Playing the pianoforte is her release, I believe" His ears coloured at his gaffe in alluding to the release which he had been so instrumental in giving to another young lady, and especially in comparing her to his sister. He could not meet her eye in his embarrassment. Elizabeth took a grim satisfaction in seeing him disturbed at his own words, hoist by his own petard! She even thought a little better of him for his unease- a very little.

 _So you are not as cold as you would have had me believe this last week. Let me get a little further under your skin._

"I suppose your mother was a very accomplished woman."

"I believe so. At least that is what I have heard. As I have previously said, I was very young when my mother passed away, not yet at an age to appreciate such accomplishments."

Both were silent for a moment. She did not quite know why, but Elizabeth wanted to push him further down that track, and could not let the matter rest. She took one glimpse at his face, lost in thought, before, turning back to look at the pond as he did, she remarked with meaning, "And your father passed away while your sister was still a child. It is terribly sad... for her to lose both parents so young, but then you are such a comfort to her."

She was skirting dangerously close to mentioning the matter around which all of this conversation had been revolving. He did not respond for a few moments and her heart pounded in anticipation of his response. She briefly thought that he would directly address their previous discussion on grief and its surprising conclusion.

"Yes, you have mentioned that once before, Miss Bennet." His enunciation of her name was so sharp that she could not be ignorant of his irritation. "I, for one, do not believe it is desirable to re-tread old ground when no good can come of any discourse on the subject!"

A lesser woman would have quailed at his tone, but Elizabeth Bennet was beginning to feel like her old self. She looked up at him, aware of his towering height very close to her, as she strained her neck to view his face. His lips were pursed and his eyes narrowed as he stared resolutely ahead. For the merest moment, she felt ashamed of her needling him, but then checked herself: while she was taken aback at his anger, she would not be cowed. After what he had put her through, why should she not have a little amusement at his expense. Her alluding to what had happened was no different than what he had done moments before and he had no right to be indignant over that. She dared not hope that he had finally grown a conscience and that this fit of pique was directed at himself. Could he be angry at her for what had happened in the library? She was indignant to consider the possibility. He had done wrong that day, much more so than her. She had already accepted that she was also culpable, but, if she had done wrong, it was to herself. He had no right to claim personal offense and, if she was to be judged, it was certainly not by him. Elizabeth wanted to throw him into the pond, but forced herself to continue the conversation, knowing that this would be more of a punishment to him than to herself.

"And so your sister is your only remaining family?" she brusquely continued. "She must be a great comfort to you, though you were very young when you became her guardian." There was no warmth in the enquiry, yet he could not but respond in the positive. He was loathe to continue the discussion at all, yet the topic of his sister was one of the few on which he generally said more than he intended to.

"Yes, she is a delightful and graceful young woman, if I say so myself. Incidentally, I share her guardianship, but I am happy to do it. She is the most obliging girl and I could not ask for a better sister."

"And, pray tell, how old is your sister, Sir?"

"She is but sixteen."

Elizabeth's natural merriment and sense of the ridiculous could not be repressed.

"Well then, you are exceedingly luckily! As a woman with three younger sisters, I think I can speak with authority when I say that that can be a very trying age; young ladies at her age are often a little difficult to manage. I could never have recognised this delightful, accomplished creature you describe, who has never given you a moment's uneasiness, as a sixteen year old girl! And, of course she is lucky, also, to have you to protect her from the iniquities of the world."

Darcy's equanimity crumbled and, as he turned fully facing her, Elizabeth could not overlook his distress any more than she could explain it. Was she finally seeing a the effects of a conscience in his man- who had introduced her to one of the iniquities from which he no doubt would wish to protect his own sister- or was it Miss Darcy? _So Miss Darcy is more flawed, perhaps, than you would have us believe. Not quite the paragon of feminine virtue after all._

This thought was, of course, not spoken aloud, yet the satisfaction that Elizabeth felt could not remain inside and presented itself in a sneer on her plump lips. Darcy caught her gratification at his distress, nearly gasping at her schadenfreude, and physically staggered back from her.

She had been fully expecting to revel in her triumph, but, his acute reaction to her unkind smile led Elizabeth to scrutinise her actions towards him this morning. She was not happy with what she found. What was she doing? She had justifiable cause for complaint against Mr. Darcy, but when had she become so callous to the feelings of another? Was that not the exact offense she had long held against him and one of those for which she was now punishing him? By committing the very same transgression!. Not to mention her thinking meanly of Miss Darcy, a young lady of whom she knew no ill and had no right to disparage- even if only in her mind. She had proved to be no better than Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth was thoroughly disgusted with herself and shocked that she had allowed her bitterness to fester to such a degree as to sour her ordinarily good-natured temperament. Jane would be ashamed of her; her father, who was not himself opposed to a joke at others' absurdity, would be revolted at the cruel intentions behind her mirth. Elizabeth immediately wanted to retract her remarks about Miss Darcy, and opened her mouth to say… she knew not what.

She did not have a chance to find out, however, as Mr. Darcy was clearly not willing to continue the exchange. He departed with a curt excuse about correspondence and Elizabeth had to suffer the final indignity of being dismissed from the conversation, while Mr. Darcy- the man who had interfered with her and insulted her- had seized the moral high ground.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Elizabeth did not think that anything could have hurt more than her father's death, but she was wrong. Of course, she loved Mary, as she did all of her family, but, familiarity had never inspired affinity between them. So the tidal wave of grief that followed Jane as she rushed towards her, clutching yet another grim note, was not just disturbing, but unexpected. She spent the next days in her room, thinking back on her behaviour towards Mary- the times that she had scolded her for her sermonising, or worse, merely rolled her eyes. Worst of all, she remembered the jokes she and her father had shared at Mary's expense and it pained her to think in anyway ill of that gentleman whose loss was still so tender. Jane could not hope to understand her self-recriminations, having the undisturbed mind of the truly good; Elizabeth's mind chattered constantly with these reproaches, so that she could get no peace. Her shock following her father's death had finally broken. She felt as if she had been drowning in it, peacefully, and had suddenly been yanked above water. She was distraught: she barely slept and never at night. As painful as her initial reaction had been, its duration was what truly astonished her: she could imagine its being this painful, but not for this long. Weeks later, when she opened her eyes after a rest of minutes rather than hours she was hit as forcefully as the second she had first found out, hardly able to breathe.

As well as her grief for her family, her conversation in the garden with Mr. Darcy weighed on her. As she gained some distance, she was slightly more forgiving of both her own and his behaviour, but by no means proud of either of them, and the more she considered it, the more the man and his reactions fascinated her.

At night, an idea would insinuate itself, and, as such midnight ideas often are, it was insistent and assured. When morning came, she would be appalled at her ramblings of the night before and swear that she would never entertain that notion again, only for it to sidle up to her once more after dark. Each night it was more demanding as lack of food and sleep wore her down, until finally she could take no more and gave in. She spent some time preparing her neglected body and detangling her hair, before padding the distance down the corridor. She softly knocked and opened the door without waiting for an answer. What she had expected she could not say, but it was not to see Mr. Darcy, fully clothed at one o'clock in the morning, staring quizzically back at her from his position by the window.

That gentleman did not know if he was in some sort of a waking dream. He had never seen her looking so natural, so wholesome, and was captivated by the gloss of her flowing hair and its warm highlights, reflecting the fire. This is how she would look on her wedding night: that same bottom lip that she bit now, she would then, in anticipation of revelations to come. Her dress was another matter. She wore a frilly, high-necked nightgown that she had surely pilfered from somebody's maiden aunt. Her sleeves were long, yet she tugged them lower still by their lace cuffs. Her body was fairly competently hidden, though even such frumpy volume could not conceal her hard peaks as they winked at him cheekily, or so he chose to think.

After their last interview, he was wary. She was obviously nervous and her lack of a dressing gown signalled either urgency, or artifice, he thought. He briefly considered the former- that some calamity had befallen her- and his heart leapt to know that he was the person to whom she had run. Her lack of an immediate explanation or appeal for help, however, convinced him that that was not the case, and so her state of comparative (yet clumsy) undress must be strategic. She was trying to manipulate him, as she had in the garden. He would not make the first move. He would wait.

"I did not expect to find anyone out of bed at this late hour, Mr. Darcy".

"Then one might wonder what you meant by coming here. Please, enlighten me," he requested dryly

She could see he was tense. He would not make it easy; he would make her ask. And so, she asked him then what she had thought she would never ask him- to repeat his actions of more than three weeks ago, to administer his cure, interfere with her, comfort her- whatever he chose to call it, as long as he did it. She had never in her life felt such degradation, as at having to ask for this. Not even when examining her own conduct in the library had she felt such shame. He maintained uncomfortable eye contact all the time she spoke, and for painful seconds after she had finished, searching her eyes, for what she could not tell. But, the worst was over now. She had said what she had to in the most delicate terms she could summon.

He did not step away from her, but turned his head to look past her unseeingly. Though his body did not move, his eyes were never still, not focusing on anything, but seeming to express the turmoil within. His hesitation was beginning to worry her, when finally, his eyes returned to her face and he seemed to be steeling himself to answer. Her request had clearly aroused strong feelings in Mr. Darcy, and he was unwillingly to speak until they were firmly under his control. Elizabeth dreaded the response he would finally give, either way. At length he spoke in a quiet, sharp voice:

"Miss Bennet, I am not your puppet, nor your manservant and I would have thought that, even had you been inattentive to the gross impropriety of entering a gentleman's chambers, you would at least have the manners not to do so in the middle of the night."

"As for your request, I have not the least interest in revisiting that incident, or in offering my _services_ again- and that you would ask it of me astounds me. It is one thing to take comfort in a spontaneous if misguided act of kindness, offered out of an impulse of genuine solidarity- but it is quite another entirely to come calling like a wanton trollop."

Despite his ire, she had not expected him to refuse, given that the original affair had occurred at his behest, when she had been in the same dire circumstance she was in now. Could he not see her agony, tonight, as he had that day on the sofa? If her surprise at his refusal was great, her shock and dismay at his couching it in terms so vicious as to border on infamy was enormous; so much so that she was rendered speechless.

I have never given much weight to conventional strictures on woman's weakness to uncontrollable passion **(1)** \- and I certainly would not have believed of you- but you disappoint me, madam. That is presuming that licentiousness is your motive for joining me here, for I would put nothing past you at this point. Your behaviour in the gardens should have warned me, Miss Bennet, but I confess I have been caught off guard by the depth of your guile. I have grossly underestimated your penchant for opportunism and calculation- I would not be surprised if you had arranged for a conveniently placed maid to enter the fray at any moment! Well? What have you to say on the matter? What possible defence could you present?

She could hardly speak for vexation and humiliation and had so many grievances to air, that she found it difficult to order her thoughts into a reply.

"I came here, Mr. Darcy, based on the charitable intentions, which I was foolish enough to impute to your own lapse in propriety in the library, and the basic compassion which I hastily thought you possessed. I did not ask you to provide any _kindness_ that day- and might I suggest that you cannot criticise my request now in such robust terms, without doing the same to your actual performance of that same deed on an unwilling innocent."

"You were hardy unwilling. And as for your innocence, I begin to have my doubts."

She was staggered. Darcy stared her down with all the smug satisfaction that self-righteous conceit can give. Into this one sentence he had decanted all his disgust, arrogance and spiteful aggression and it took all of Elizabeth's fortitude to compose a parting thought to extract herself from his room with some paltry measure of pride intact.

"I will not argue, Sir, that I have always acted as I ought." She stuck her chin out in an effort to simulate the dignity that she was so far from feeling. "However, if you believe that any motive you choose to assign to me could justify your scandalous treatment of me this evening, then you are a brute- and have not even the most fundamental humanity or feeling that could qualify you as a man."

With this she turned on her heel and walked out. She did not break down in tears on leaving the room, nor when she reached her bed chamber. She had finished with tears. Elizabeth felt strangely invigorated by their argument and, though she did not sleep a wink that night and her mind still buzzed with criticisms of both herself and Mr. Darcy, she was determined to re-join the party at breakfast the next morning.

* * *

 **(1)** Conduct manuals of the time followed the prevailing double standard in arguing that it was more important for women to be chased than men, because it was thought that, due to their weakness, once women acted immorally once, their passions would be uncontrollable. (Gender in English Society: 1650-1850 by Robert Schumaker)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Elizabeth rose early the next morning, and called for a bath. She was soon ready for the day, but dawdled in her room until certain that Jane would be dressed. Elizabeth entered her sister's bedchamber to find the same maid who had attended her finishing her sister's hair. It was clear from her relieved face at seeing Elizabeth's attire just how worried Jane had been. She rushed over to hug her and enquire how she had slept. The answer was not at all, but Elizabeth did not say so, prevaricating by inviting Jane to stroll in the gardens before breakfast. They were able to take a short turn close to the house before being chased indoors by a drizzle borne on pregnant clouds. The rest of the household, excepting Mr. Hurst, had assembled and were in the middle of an elegant meal with tea and coffee being served in fine china cups.

Elizabeth's eyes flew to Mr. Darcy immediately. He, along with the rest of the party, had turned his head to watch them enter. As he was seated and she, standing, his grave countenance did not intimidate her and Elizabeth found herself cheered by her unexpected courage at this first meeting. He looked away first, to Elizabeth's immense satisfaction, and she sauntered to a seat across the table, ready to reclaim some pride and forget that she had ever had any private dealings with Mr. Darcy. He seemed to share her desire and, though by no means loquacious, he behaved agreeably to the others. He made no attempt to distinguish Elizabeth, however, which suited her just fine.

It was fortunate that Jane and Elizabeth had walked before breakfast. By the time the gentlemen could leave the table, due to a tardy Mr. Hurst, the light drizzle that had chased the Bennets indoors had become a deluge. It held the household captive within and cast a gloom over the residence, which dulled any pleasure they might find in their various diversions. Bingley and Darcy retired to the study to do what gentlemen generally do in that room. Hurst took the opportunity to stay and scavenge what was left of the breakfast meal, while the ladies relocated to the morning room. Jane's decisive movement to a chair in front of the window- clearly her chair- demonstrated that she had etched out a routine here at Netherfield, since Elizabeth had been confined to her rooms. Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt at having failed another of her sisters, abandoning her to their begrudging hosts.

The morning passed in such a tedious fashion, that the time spent sequestered in her room seemed, if not quite stimulating by comparison, at least preferable for its freedom. She could not politely excuse herself, yet it was clear that her presence was not welcomed by the Bingley sisters. Any conversation with those ladies was, on both sides, brief and strained. Neither could she bear to speak to Jane, both due to the beady eyes that she could feel cataloguing and criticising everything she said, and because that divide that she had felt these past weeks between her sister and herself was now a gaping chasm. She could no more relate to the faultless Jane than to that bony article threading her needle at the sewing table.

And so Elizabeth remained silent, for the most part, speaking only as much as required to maintain civility and her morning was spent observing the interaction between Bingley's sisters and Jane. She was astonished at the openly patronizing tone which the sisters took with her and no less so at Jane's apparent inability to recognise the contempt in which she was held. At one point, however, Miss Bingley left to speak to the cook and Mrs. Hurst took this opportunity to write a letter, thus avoiding the task of conversing alone with the Bennets. When both Bingley sisters were engaged in this way, Elizabeth saw that Jane let her guard down and it occurred to her, based on Jane's slumped shoulders and tense expression, that her sister had not been so blind to the Bingleys' insults after all. She was surprised, not by the sentiments they had expressed, which she had long suspected, but by their revealing these sentiments to Jane, who the pair seemed to view as a pet, of sorts. This did not bode well for her relationship with Bingley and Elizabeth knew she would have to consult Jane on the matter.

* * *

The lethargy and despondency that had settled over the household, not to mention the Bingley sisters' barely controlled disdain, dampened any enjoyment the otherwise excellent dinner that evening might have given. Elizabeth was determined to present a composed mask to Mr. Darcy, but this did not extend to feigning an appetite. Her sister was still troubled over her recent behaviour and was observing attentively to gauge her recovery. She noticed that Elizabeth served herself little and ate less. Mr. Darcy was the only other person paying such rapt attention; his mind was otherwise occupied than on her food intake.

He was aggravated by her presence, tormented and tempted, until he did not know which feeling won out. Yet a detailed fantasy would play out in front of his eyes, no matter how he fought it. In his thoughts he had somehow finagled himself into the seat beside her and dropped his hand to her thigh before bunching up her dress and executing that act on her- right there under the tablecloth- which she had last night so much desired. She would try to maintain her composure and carry on polite conversation as he took his turn to torment her. He caught himself ogling her, imagining what faces she would pull as she tried to stop herself from crying out at the final moment. He glanced around, taking care to see that he had not been observed in his musings and redoubling his resolve not to attend to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

The dour mood of the day did not dissipate before the commencement of the evening's entertainment in the drawing room. Mr. Bingley had spent less than twenty minutes in the dining room after the ladies had left it and his presence brought some relief to their tedium of tense silences and insincere admiration of each other's embroidery. The other gentlemen, however, spent even longer in the dining room than the customary hour of separation. Miss Bingley thought this odd, as she knew that Mr. Darcy was not overly fond of her brother-in-law.

When they finally entered, an aroma of spirits wafted from them and even Mr. Hurst seemed to have outdone himself in the quantity of his libation- which was no small feat. He was full of energy and jollier than most in the group had ever seen him. Even his wife had to strain her memory to produce a parallel. He was in such fine form, that his usual spot on the couch could not lure him and he most insistently and loudly requested that Miss Bingley organise some parlour games, if they would not have cards. (The entire party had grown weary of Mr. Hurst's insatiable enthusiasm for that pastime, as well as his skill in separating them from the contents of their purses, and none had been willing to join him at the card table of late).

Miss Bingley was becoming alarmed by his conduct. She offered to entertain the gentlemen on the pianoforte, hoping that this would distract him long enough for him to fall asleep as usual, but was forced to retire after just one piece. Mr. Hurst, not to be discouraged so easily, had spent half of the tune trying to pull his wife out of her chair. When he had succeeded in that he strong-armed her into dancing with him- his own movements unrecognisable as anything that belonged in polite society. When she had finally wriggled out of his grasp and fled back to her seat, he, without preamble, turned to the Miss Bennets, who sat side by side on a low couch, and took them by their wrists, apparently intent on dancing with both at once. Fortunately for them, Miss Bingley, with some clever improvisation, managed to end the song smoothly at that point, and Hurst remained oblivious to the discomfort he was causing the entire room.

Darcy, for once, had matched Hurst drink for drink after dinner, unwilling to commence the evening of torture that he was sure was before him without some fortification. He really was foxed now, and was surprised to find that Mr. Hurst had grown on him as they progressed through the decanter of whiskey. Listening to Hurst's ridiculous anecdotes, he had to work very hard to keep an unaffected countenance, with so much alcohol in him. He wanted nothing more than to grin from ear to ear at his undignified display and he was feeling quite generous towards the man and content in himself when the time came to move to the drawing room. His benevolence towards Hurst persisted through his antics with his wife, which Darcy secretly thought, though undignified and embarrassing for both, were comical to watch.

But when Hurst grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and bodily removed her from her seat, it sent a surge of ice through Darcy's veins and he realised his mistake in getting drunk. He had only amplified his struggles over Elizabeth. Presently, though he had not forgotten their disagreement of last night, his general softening due to his state of inebriation was making him susceptible to her charms once more. He was still lucid enough to realise that he was in grave danger, but cut enough that he felt unable to restrain himself from coming to her aid.

Hurst was about to take the lady by her waist when Miss Bingley ceased playing. By the time she had done so, both Darcy and Bingley had jumped from their seats and made a step towards the trio. Neither knew how to convey their displeasure in terms that would, in the one case, not disgrace him as a host, and in the other, not betray his jealous outrage. Darcy was very much conscious of the symmetry of his and Bingley's situations. Fearing that the keen eyed Miss Bingley would recognise his own infatuation, as she had long ago done in her brother's case, he quickly suggested, in a voice that he strained to give the tenor of sobriety, that they follow Mr. Hurst's proposal of a parlour game.

On hearing Mr. Darcy's wish, Miss Bingley would have moved heaven and earth to grant it. Happily, it required only the rearranging of furniture, and several sheets of paper. The game they were to play was _Consequences_ , in deference, Miss Bingley obsequiously declared, to Mr. Darcy's superior way with the written word. The man himself took the time required by the servants to prepare the room to brace himself; he could not afford to act the lovesick fool. Hurst, not happy being the only (apparent) inebriate in the group, insisted that while the footmen were rearranging the furniture everyone be supplied with wine, which they duly were. When Miss Bingley called them to the table all had finished their glasses and been poured another, again at Hurst's insistence.

An odd, uninhibited atmosphere, took hold of the party, due to the combination of the wine, the oppression of a dreary day spent indoors, and the influence of Hurst's peculiar actions. Said Hurst was first to plonk himself in a chair, dragging his wife with him by the hand. Mrs. Hurst was disturbed by his attentiveness and suspected that she knew what was in store for her when they retired to their chambers that evening. Bingley escorted both Bennet sisters to sit on either side of him at the round table. Darcy, cursing his foolishness even as he did it, sat beside Elizabeth, with Mrs. Hurst on his left, and Miss Bingley was left to sit between Jane Bennett and Mr. Hurst **(1)**.

When pencils and paper had been distributed, Miss Bingley took great pleasure in reviewing the rules of the game **(2)** as officiously as she could. Elizabeth was feeling extremely uncomfortable at Darcy's proximity. She glanced sideways in his direction, not daring to look at him directly, and could sense him doing much the same. She could detect the faint, sweet scent of spirits on him, but it was not as strong as she had thought it would be (Hurst was obviously carrying the greater part of the burden in that regard). He did not speak to her, and his conduct since joining the ladies after dinner had been no cause for alarm. Yet, the fragrant reminder of his drunken state scared her, if she was willing to admit it. A drunken Darcy would not be restrained and his customary reserved manner, though infuriating, was what she knew. She could predict what a sober Darcy would do(in company at any rate), yet she had begun to see that his surface concealed an emotional interior, which she was frightened to think might react quite violently towards her if unleashed.

Her mind was so full of Darcy that she could think of no other topic to write about when the game commenced. She took up her piece of paper and began the story with a male adjective and name, _Haughty Denby_ , then folded it so that the word was hidden and passed it to the Mr. Bingley on her right. Darcy was in a similar position. His thoughts on her were more pleasant, but he would not give in to his attraction and forced himself to think of their past arguments as he began to write.

Elizabeth was on Mr. Darcy's right and the manner in which his hand lingered on the paper he handed her, caused her heart to thump in her ears. She reached out and took the page, both their hands resting on it for a moment, fingers almost touching as she took it. They continued through the game, writing a female adjective and name, the place they met, and what the man wore, passing the pages to the right between each round. By now, she and Darcy had established a routine. He would fold his page, holding it out halfway between them, and wait for her to reach out. His hand would remain a moment next to hers, but he would remove it before it drew general attention, and she would take the paper to write her next word. This exchange may have seemed tender to a casual observer, but Elizabeth knew better: tension rolled off Darcy and, she imagined, her as well. She never saw a word of what he had written, but she would wager anything that his story involved her, as hers did him. They were alone in a bubble of tension and Elizabeth feared that at any moment it would burst.

They continued the game, writing what the female character wore, what they both said and the consequences of this, each time passing the sheet to the neighbour on their right, before continuing to the next phrase. Had Elizabeth or Darcy been more aware of their surroundings, they may have noticed the strange behaviour of other participants in the game. Mr. Hurst was the most obvious, snickering deviously every time he finished a section of his story. Bingley and Jane were periodically glancing at each other in a furtive manner, but each missing the other's lovesick gazes. Finally, when each piece of paper had been passed eight times they finished their stories with what the world said about the tale. When the story they were holding was completed, each folded it over one last time and placed it in a hat Miss Bingley provided. She walked around the table one more time to have each person pull a story from it to read to the group.

Miss Bingley volunteered to read first. She unfolded her piece of paper in a way that she imagined would add to the suspense and began:

" _Sweet John met accomplished Catherine in her… -_ Oh I cannot read this one at all- the penmanship is atrocious, like something a child would attempt!" At this she gave a very pointed look between her brother and Mr. Hurst (the latter being the culprit on this occasion). " _He wore a beaver hat. She wore white. He said, 'I understand.' She said, 'I am not engaged, sir.' As a consequence they came to an understanding. And the world said, 'What a superb match.'"_

Darcy and Elizabeth had both been listening carefully, for the phrase the other had written. This was easily discovered, as they needed only to listen for their own line and use it to locate the other's: Elizabeth's would always follow directly after Darcy's, as she was beside him at the table. Darcy's contribution, ' _She wore white'_ did not give much of a pointer as to the content of his story. " _He said, 'I understand.'''_ by Elizabeth, held intriguing possibilities for Darcy, on the other hand.

Similarly, the others at the table could use their own phrase to situate each other person's donation to the story; though it became more difficult the farther from them that person was seated. So it could be discovered by an astute listener that the order of the story was: _"Sweet John_ [Miss Jane Bennet] _met accomplished Catherine_ [Miss Caroline Bingley] _in her…_ [Mr. Hurst] _He wore a beaver hat._ [Mrs. Hurst] _She wore white._ [Mr. Darcy] _He said, 'I understand.'_ [Miss Elizabeth Bennet] _She said, 'I am not engaged, sir.'_ [Mr. Bingley] _As a consequence they came to an understanding._ [Miss Jane Bennet] _And the world said, 'What a superb match.' "_ _[Miss Caroline Bingley]_

Mr. Hurst, indignant that his contribution had not been heard, stood up then, and pronounced that he would read next:

" _Dastardly Richard met tedious Tilly in the library. He wore a scowl."_ This yielded a scowl from one of the occupants at the table, who recognised the unflattering description of himself. " _She wore the garb of an angel_." No one was deluded as to the author that line. The lady whom it could be reasonably assumed was the object of this description blushed delicately, and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst met each other's eyes before rolling them in unison. Hurst continued, " _He said 'I am lost.' She said 'You are most gracious, sir.' As a consequence..."_ Here Mr. Hurst paused significantly with a glint in his eye that boded no good. He took a large breath and boomed, _"They had a lovely bit of rumpy pumpy. And the world said 'What a rake!' "_

The room gasped collectively at this, Bingley implored, "Hurst, Really!" and Mrs. Hurst gave her husband a slap in the nearest body part she could reach. The man himself was roaring with laughter and, even when he eventually sat down, still chuckled to himself in such undiluted amusement as is only afforded to the very young, or very drunk.

"I apologise, ladies, for my brother's inebriated profanity," Bingley continued. "Please feel free to disregard his contributions on your own pages. Unless… you don't think we should stop the game? Perhaps it would be improper to continue?"

This last was directed at Darcy, who felt that his hands were tied. It indeed would be improper to continue, but he was so curious as to what Elizabeth had written that he searched for an answer to the question that would allow them to do just that. He was not alone in this desire- most of the other participants were eager to hear the words of another, or, in Hurst's case, himself. Elizabeth knew that the phrase _'in the library'_ in the last storyhad been Darcy's. She felt certain she knew the subject of his writing and she both longed to hear his account and dreaded the same.

Only Mrs. Hurst did not have a particular story in mind, but she was curious and, unembarrassed by her own motives, was the person to say, "Oh, it is harmless, Charles. Let us not waste our efforts thus far because of one silly man's joke." Little did they know that Mrs. Hurst had written a rather risqué tale herself. The others at the table cautiously and quietly agreed, none wanting to stick their head above the parapet to frankly declare their wish to continue. Eventually, through anonymous muttered agreement, the game continued.

Bingley, as host, volunteered to run the gauntlet of Hurst's imagination and read his story next. With some trepidation he unfolded his paper and did so:

" _Enamoured Christopher met shy Mary at his estate. He wore a magnificent tiger pelt. She wore silk slippers. He said, 'I shall help you.' She said, 'I thank you,'"_ Bingley read.

Elizabeth and Darcy turned as one and looked into each other's eyes for the first time that evening. Elizabeth realised that she never had thanked him for his efforts to comfort her, as she had written, and felt sorry for it, despite, or perhaps because of what had later passed between them. She was thankful now that she saw no evidence of hostility in his gaze, and tried to silently communicate her regret. Bingley read on, the others' attention on him, and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy could continue to contemplate each other unobserved

 _"As a consequence, they fell in love."_ They both tried to feign complacency, but their mutual discomfort led them to look away with similar, but unequal regret at the moment ending. _"And the world said, 'She is the most fortunate creature that ever existed.'_ Neither Mr. Darcy nor Elizabeth heard this last line, lost as they were in their own discomfort.

Miss Bingley, not at all happy with how this game had turned out, immediately called on Jane to read, which she did in her usual gentle lilt: _"Wicked John met weeping Elise in the empty library. He wore his Sunday best. She wore a red pelisse. He said, 'You are very welcome to my home.' She said 'Take me now.' "_ Jane surprised them all with neither blushing cheek nor quavering voice as she read this and Bingley smiled in perverse admiration. Jane continued, after only the briefest of pauses, _"As a consequence she struck him. And the world said 'Henceforth, be on your guard.'"_ Elizabeth had kept track of the contributors after her own _'in the empty library'_ , and so knew that _'Henceforth, be on your guard,'_ was Darcy's writing, as the paper had come back around full circle by that time in the game. Her mooning over the last story was brought to an abrupt halt, when she considered the meaning of his words. She was left frowning in confusion and apprehension: was this a message for her? A threat?

By the time Mrs. Hurst stood to read, the players had become less attentive to the game and occasionally chatted amongst themselves, the novelty of the vulgarity having worn off. Miss Bingley, while trying to keep an eye on Darcy's interaction with Eliza, was also frantically trying to piece his story together, but lacked the quickness to catch more than half of it.

Mrs Hurst began, " _Haughty Denby met heavenly Joy in the woods. He wore a resplendent green coat. She wore no stays. He said, 'I have a private box.' She said, 'Yes, please!' As a consequence, the gentleman proved that he was no gentleman."_ Darcy's glower, however, was so deep by now, at Elizabeth's insult of calling him 'haughty', that his brows almost touched and he huffed out a breath through his nostrils. The momentary détente between them was well and truly over on both sides.

Bingley continued, " _And the world said, 'They make a charming couple.'"_ The rest of the table broke out in a gale of laughter at this story. Darcy and Elizabeth sat in their places, each endeavouring to edge as far from the other as possible.

Miss Bingley, in her most seductive voice, urged Mr. Darcy to read next. He stammered slightly as he began, recognising his own words. _"Desperate William met foolish Lisa at the ball. He wore a smile. She wore finest silk. He said,_ ' _Show us your-'"_ Mr. Darcy stopped abruptly and glowered at Hurst, before muttering, _"_ I am not reading that." He shook his head minutely, allowing the others to imagine how that sentence might end.

 _"She said, 'You scoundrel!' … As a consequence, she tried to take advantage._ His bitter tone in reading his own words caught the attention of everyone at the table and he had to visibly calm himself. _"And the world said, 'Never let it be known.'"_ He frowned at the last words on the page- Elizabeth's- and she could see that he was trying to use this new piece of the puzzle to complete her story.

Elizabeth was doing some puzzling herself and when she had put his story together she was fuming: " _Desperate William met weeping Elise in the library. He wore _. She wore white. He said 'I shall help you.' She said 'Yes, please!' As a consequence, she tried to take advantage. And the world said 'Henceforth be on your guard.'"_ : it was his side of the incident in the library and its aftermath and it painted her as manipulative and heartless **(3)**.

She had never aimed to ingratiate herself to Mr. Darcy, but knowing that anyone could have such a base opinion of her was mortifying. Elizabeth was in agony at this point and wanted nothing more than to run away, or grab Darcy's head between her hands and scream into his face; to ask him why he behaved as he did- so contradictorily. She was taken back to that moment when he had brought her to ecstasy and to their ugly altercation in his bed chamber the night before and the recollection of it all, here in this well-lit room, surrounded by these people, was too much.

She rose suddenly, gaining the notice of the whole table and announced "Forgive me, I am feeling unwell. If you will all excuse me, I shall retire early- Goodnight." She was already making her way to the door.

Miss Bingley was, for once, unwilling to see her go. "But Eliza, the game is not yet finished! There is one more story to read, and you were due your turn." **(4)**

She continued with an aside to no-one in particular, "Some people just cannot abide by the group- they must always have some drama of their own going on!"

Elizabeth did not look back or even acknowledge her. She did stop at the door, however, and grabbed the frame she had meant to walk through. The footman on the other side looked at her inquiringly a moment before she fell to the floor and the room went dark.

* * *

This chapter was very complicated to write, and, I'm sure, just as complicated to read. I tried to make the game of Consequences as clear as I could, without beating you over the head with it, or giving away anything too soon. I've included lots of end notes, as I said, and hope that may make it easier to figure out who wrote each contribution to each story, though that's not strictly necessary to know anyone's other than Darcy and Elizabeth.

The 1st endnote is the order of the party around the table, which is what gives away who wrote each entry, the 2nd is a general description of the game of consequences, the 3rd, the story as written by each of the characters (though each part was written on a different sheet in the game) and the 4th is the remaining story, which Elizabeth was due to read.

* * *

 **(1)** Just to clarify, the order of the party around the round table is: **Darcy; Elizabeth; Bingley; Jane; Miss Bingley; Hurst; Mrs. Hurst** (who sits beside Darcy).

 **(2)** Consequences: Each person takes a turn choosing a word or phrase for one of nine questions, in this order:

Adjective for a man, a man's name

Adjective for a woman, a woman's name

Where they met

He wore

She wore

He said to her

She said to him

And the consequence was…

What the world said

Then the story is read (for example):

 _Mediocre Joe_ met _transparent Kim_ at _the bowling alley_.

Joe wore _a seafoam green leisure suit_. Kim wore _a sandwich board_. Joe said to Kim " _During the last storm, we had a little party in the mud_." Kim said " _She wasn't that into me_." As a consequence, _the band got back together_. And the world said " _Somehow, I think I saw this coming._ "

(Wikipedia: wiki/Consequences_(game))

 **(3)** Here are the stories written by each person in order as they sit around the table:

Darcy

Desperate William met weeping Elise in the library. He wore black. She wore white. He said, 'I shall help you.' She said, 'Yes, please!' As a consequence, she tried to take advantage. And the world said, 'Henceforth, be on your guard.'

Elizabeth

Haughty Denby met foolish Lisa in the empty library. He wore a scowl. She wore mourning clothes. He said, 'I understand.' She said, 'I thank you.' As a consequence, the gentleman proved that he was no gentleman. And the world said, 'Never let it be known.'

Mr. Bingley

Enamoured Christopher met heavenly Joy at the ball. He wore his Sunday best. She wore the garb of an angel. He said, 'May I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?' She said, 'I am not engaged, sir.' As a consequence, they fell in love. And the world said, 'They make a charming couple.'

Jane

Sweet John met shy Mary in the woods. He wore a smile. She wore a red pelisse. He said to her 'I am lost.' She said, 'I will show you the way'. As a consequence, they came to an understanding. And the world said 'She is the most fortunate creature that ever existed.'

Miss Bingley

Stately William met accomplished Catherine at his estate. He wore fitted breeches. She wore finest silk. He said, 'You are very welcome to my home.' She said, 'You are most gracious, sir.' As a consequence, they were married in front of friends and family. And the world said, 'What a superb match.'

Mr. Hurst

Dastardly Richard met ravishing Kate in her boudoir. He wore a magnificent tiger pelt. She wore no stays. He said to her, 'Show us your tits!' She said to him, 'Take me now.' As a consequence, they had a lovely bit of rumpy pumpy. And the world said, 'What a lovely pair.'

Mrs. Hurst

Wicked John met tedious Tilly at the theatre. He wore a beaver hat. She wore silk slippers. He said 'I have a private box.' She said, 'You scoundrel!' As a consequence, she struck him. And the world said, 'What a rake!'

 **(4)** This is the remaining story which never gets read as Elizabeth leaves early:

Stately William met ravishing Kate at the theatre. He wore black. She wore mourning clothes. He said 'May I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?' She said 'I will show you the way.' As a consequence, they were married in front of friends and family. And the world said, 'What a lovely pair.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The low knock was barely audible, but the door was immediately opened to reveal Mr. Darcy. He closed the door and moved towards the bed in a manner that she had never seen in him before. His whole body spoke of apprehension and his movements were almost hesitant. Yet there was an innate dignity to his posture that could not be suppressed.

He was too far removed for her to be able to smell alcohol on him, if it was there, and she hoped desperately that he was sober. He seemed calm, which gave Elizabeth hope that he was not there to castigate her again. His criticism was cutting enough when he was sober, and she could only imagine the flow his drunken vitriol would take.

At that point she was as vexed with herself as with him, at her body's failure, just one of many for which he would have condemned her, since she had come to Netherfield. She was feeling so uncomfortable that she did not think to be surprised at, or question, his change in attitude.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet."

This was said in the middle of the night, as she sat on her bed in her nightgown. She did not deign to respond.

"I hope that you are feeling better."

In truth, she wasn't. Weeks of poor sleep, erratic diet and stress had worn her down. So much so, that her ordinarily healthy body had given out that evening, just for a few moments; she hadn't even gotten a rest out of the experience, as she had woken while she was being carried to her bed and her foot struck the banister. Her shock at feeling a pair of strong male arms wrapped around her put her on edge immediately: such close proximity to a man portended very confusing and alarming things for her of late. But she was sick of it- sick of being on guard and doubting herself, doubting everybody else. She had squeezed her eyes further shut and made the conscious effort to relax; and for the first time in three weeks, she had done just that. She relaxed. She let her mind still and the only thing in the world was the rhythm of her breathing and the lub-dub of her heartbeat. She expanded her awareness to include the man carrying her. She focused on his breathing and his heartbeat, and the steadiness of both made her steady. The situation reminded her of her father carrying her to bed as a child after a long evening playing on his library floor. She began to wonder at this man's identity. He walked through the door to her chamber, placed her gently on the bed and moved away. Elizabeth knew that this was the time to take a peek unobserved and she opened her eyes to see Fosset's broad face looking across the bed to Jane as she thanked and dismissed him. A pang of disappointment had pierced her at seeing that the reassuring heartbeat had belonged to Mr. Bingley's footman. She smothered it immediately.

Elizabeth was caught up in this memory as Mr. Darcy waited for an answer and it was some moments before she thought to reply.

"Yes, much better- I woke almost instantly. I have taken a little broth and I no longer feel faint."

Elizabeth was so sick of the incessant badgering about her health that evening, primarily from her sister, that she could not bring herself to thank him for his enquiry. She had eventually gotten rid of Jane- persuading her to take her rest and promising to sleep herself- and she nearly rolled her eyes when she heard Mr. Darcy's next words.

"But you have not slept."

It was not a question. He did not need to ask her: her eyes were underlined by deep grey circles. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was responsible, if not for their existence, at least for prolonging the agony that had caused them. Seeing her hit the floor with a surprisingly loud thud had opened his eyes to her suffering and his part in it. He may even have insisted on carrying her up to her room, if the footman had not rushed to her first. The apothecary had been called and his diagnosis of fatigue, undernourishment and grief had been a shock to Darcy. He had been aware of her anguish in the moment when she had learned of her father's death, but since then he had very little of it. He hadn't wanted to see it. Ever since he had grasped the influence that Elizabeth had over him- even as she lay passively on the couch allowing him to administer to her like a servant tending his master- he had not wanted to know. He had wanted to expose himself to her influence. His realisation now of just how much she was suffering gave him a different perspective on her conduct. Not only had she been genuine in her request for aid, it occurred to him that his 'aid' may in itself have been disturbing to her, particularly given his criticism of her for coming to him again last night. He had debated whether to never address that issue again, to forget the save her more pain, but she had come to him only twenty four hours before to ask for exactly what he was about to offer her. In the end, he decided that it was not for him to decide. He began tentatively:

"Your mind is still…scattered?"

 _Scattered…scattered, where did that…? Oh God!_ He was using her words; the words she had spoken when she had humiliated herself before him last night in his bedroom. Was it only last night?

Darcy could see her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud. She was physically shrinking away from him, back into the upholstered headboard. He panicked and blurted out his next statement, not remembering the speech he had prepared, but managing to communicate the gist of it.

"Miss Bennett, I am here to apologise on three counts for my behaviour of late and I do so now most penitently."

"In the middle of the night, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth was not so cowed that she could pass that one up. He had the good grace to colour at her quip, but soldiered on.

"My words to you and the allegations I made were abhorrent." Elizabeth was feigning disinterest, but her heart stopped at his volte-face and she hung on every word.

"I should never have accused you of artifice. The comment about… the maid, it was beneath me, and such behaviour would undoubtedly be beneath you." He paused here and was clearly expecting her to respond. But what could she say? She did not know that she dared to open her mouth for fear of what might come out. She only knew that it would not be brief and it would not be considered. He took her silence as permission to continue and did so at length.

"I never realised how affected I have been by the culture of dissimulation and deceit that exists in London society, until now. A gentleman in my position must be vigilant against such nefarious schemes, for obvious reasons, but it is not your fault that such behaviour occurs and is common practice in the Ton; I should not have accused you of it. That coupled with our misunderstanding in the garden... I cannot go into details, Miss Bennett. I will merely say that, for very pertinent reasons, I am sensitive about my sister and the protection I afford her. Your remarks, your implications, did not sit well with me."

 _Was this an apology?_ He had made one lacklustre concession and then followed it with a backhanded criticism. He seemed to still believe that she would wish to have him, _for obvious reasons_ , and would merely not lower herself to commit the necessary actions to entrap him. He had also apparently not forgiven her for her gibe at him in the gardens.

"As for my behaviour this evening- I was quite drunk. I should not have aired my grievances in such a public arena. If it is any consolation, I do not believe that anyone else at the table was aware of it. I realise now that many of my objections were unfounded."

"That brings me to the final point for which I would like to apologise- my heartless disregard for the distress you were in and my refusal to help you. I can only justify my actions, or lack thereof, by saying that my own discomfort at the time was such that I failed to recognise yours. This led me to attribute motives to you that I had no basis for doing. I can see now the physical manifestation of your distress and acquit you of any manipulation in coming to me last night."

He did not mention his charge of her being a wanton, she noticed. He evidently did not wish to retract that remark. In truth, the idea that she was drawn to him for more than the practical effect of what he could do for her, was not unappealing to him. As long as she did not develop expectations that he was not prepared to meet, the idea was thrilling: there was something rousing about a woman, this woman in particular, yearning for him.

For a variety of reasons, he would no longer deny her whatever succour she would get from him.

"Rather than continue apologising for words that I cannot take back, I would like to make amends now, by… helping you… in any way that I can. I would like to put your mind at ease."

She doubted only for a moment that he intended to give her what she wanted- and she did want it, even now. The way he was studying her face reminded her of that day in the library when, she now realised, he had been judging her susceptibility to the actions he was planning to take. She recalled how she had felt that day, both before and after, especially after, he had done it. She had felt so good, in body and mind afterwards, and that ease had been converted into gratitude and an uncharacteristic benign feeling towards Mr. Darcy. She wanted to get back to that feeling he had created in her. She didn't care that he was arrogant, selfish, that even his apology had focused more on himself, than on her. She wanted to regain that sensation of tranquility.

Elizabeth did not have to say anything. She merely shifted down in the bed to lie flat on the mattress. When he did not immediately move closer, she turned her head to give an unspoken, insolent command to come. Darcy moved to the bed and sat down as if it were made of glass. He swallowed uncomfortably and took a woollen blanket from the end of the bed, which he used to carefully cover her lower half. Elizabeth secretly enjoyed this.

"Could you bend your knees and part your legs. That would be…easiest." God he hated this, hated how detached he sounded, even to himself, but it had to be this way.

She blushed adorably before slowly complying. She was deliberate in her leisureliness, not wanting to appear eager. Little did she know the effect this had on Darcy as he watched her tantalisingly, as if performing, spread her legs and expose her cunt to him, but for the one thin covering that was saving him from madness.

They both knew what was happening this time. They both knew what would come next. But he did not move and neither did she. They just waited. Elizabeth was looking at the ceiling, tensed in anticipation. This impasse would continue indefinitely unless Darcy jolted himself from his inertia and acted, which finally he did; a little too enthusiastically, as it happened, as the finger that he had thrust under the blanket, instead of reaching her clitoris, as he had intended, plunged inside her, just as far as his first knuckle. She clenched reflexively around him with a squeak and they both froze, eyes locked in mutual horror. He lowered his when he recollected himself and only then did he withdraw his finger.

"My apologies. I hope I did not injure you."

"I am well." _Please continue_ , she almost said, but caught herself just in time.

He took a moment to orientate himself and was tempted to pull up the blanket to take a look. He quickly found her pearl, however, and fell into that steady rhythm that had served him so well the last time. Elizabeth was in a very different position than she had been in that first time. Then, she had been shocked, confused and paralysed. Now, she was fully aware of what was going on and her mind was afire with questions and judgements and emotions. That was, until Darcy's exertion began to bear fruit and Elizabeth recognised that memorable feeling of rising heat. She felt unaccountably connected to Darcy, as they had both agreed to do this and were seeing it through together. She already felt more relaxed and the hours of sleep she had missed for the past few weeks tugged on her eyelids. She allowed herself to close her eyes and immediately felt less inhibited, as though he could no longer see her either, when her eyes were closed.

This was much to Darcy's gratification, as it allowed him both to watch her without embarrassment and to see her more expressive reaction to his labours: her hands lay limp at her sides and her knees splayed open even wider. Soon it was clear that she was not going to re-open her eyes, not having done so once since closing them, and he allowed his emotions free rein over his face, as he so very rarely did. The smile that spread over his lips, however, was small, as he was still in anticipation of her release and would not be happy until he had achieved it.

It was clear to him from her increasingly gruff vocalisations and unrestrained responses that she was so moved as to have lost all control and was hardly aware of his presence. He decided to indulge a little of his curiosity about her physical person and the reactions he could incite, and moved his hand lower. He was exceedingly nervous in doing so, as nervous as he had been the first time he had touched her and he watched her face anxiously as he slid his hand down from her bud to find her two lips, which signalled the opening that had beckoned him almost from the earliest moments of their acquaintance.

His interest was a mixture of licentiousness and genuine curiosity, but he made sure that his investigations took the form of caresses that incited continuous soft mewling from Elizabeth. He tickled her pliant outer lips with his fingers and was even bold enough to part them and investigate the soft, moist skin underneath. He played around the entrance to her hole, and found her very receptive indeed to this, but would go no further. After a few minutes of experimentation, however, he decided that nothing brought her more pleasure than his rubbing her clitoris and, realising that she was so relaxed and exhausted as to be almost in a torpor, he decided it was past time to finish. He returned to her clitoris, took hold of her knee and with such vigorous movements that came to involve, not only his finger and wrist, but his whole arm, he was proud to bring her to completion within a minute.

The lady seemed somewhat bewildered by his increased application and the frighteningly powerful throbbing it produced in her groin. Her eyes shot open briefly before the most beautiful scream Darcy had ever heard burst from her and he involuntarily grunted in sympathy. She immediately relaxed every muscle in her body. She was almost unaware of Darcy's presence and freely exhibited her immense pleasure: legs flopped open, eyes closed again, as a satisfied grin widened over her face. Darcy could not glory in his achievement as he listened anxiously to determine whether they had been detected by anyone in the house.

After a moment of silence, he was satisfied at least that no one was suspicious enough to investigate and returned his attention to Elizabeth. She was still releasing quiet, satisfied groans, when Darcy discreetly wiped his hand on the blanket and removed himself from the bed, pulling over the counterpane to gently tuck her in. He thought he heard her thank him, but she was already so close to sleep, that her slack mouth could not be properly understood. He smiled broadly now in unadulterated pleasure at a job well done. Tonight had been about helping her and assuaging his guilt and he had succeeded admirably in both. He would not permit himself to fixate on the control he had given her tonight and its implications for their remaining time at Netherfield. That could wait until the morning. He allowed himself a moment to watch her snuggle deeper into the blankets, her pleasure still playing across her sleeping face, before turning and soundlessly departing for his own room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Elizabeth stood outside a room which she had never been into before. Even as she had followed Mr. Darcy's directions to the end of the corridor on the second floor, she did not know if she wanted to go through with this. It was not one of the public rooms and she presumed was little used. It would have to be for Darcy to choose it as their meeting place.

Its location was one of the few things he had told her on finding her walking in the garden that morning and she had been too self-conscious to question him. He had seemed in surprisingly good humour and it had made him less awkward in his address than usual, though not more verbose. He had made perfunctory inquiries into her health before suggesting that she meet him in said room at half past eleven that morning, if she wished to make an ongoing arrangement of their activities of the night before. His reasons for the timing of their meeting were that the rest of the household would be occupied directly after breakfast and that it would be less perilous than entering each other's rooms at night. She took the risk he alluded to, to be that of getting caught by someone else in the house, and did not think to consider that Darcy's restrained behaviour might be in jeopardy if she turned up once more in his bedroom, meagrely clad.

Of course, Elizabeth thought, it would be easy for him to meet her at that time: Bingley would be attending to estate business straight after breakfast and Hurst would be unlikely to make an appearance this morning, or require company if he did. She had had a little more trouble. Caroline Bingley had been playing the hostess, holding court once more in the morning room. She had not been at all happy with the events of the night before. Though she had not fully understood what had taken place between Darcy and Elizabeth during the game, she was almost certain that something had. As for her brother and Jane Bennet, the state of affairs there was glaringly obvious. It would have to be dealt with and she supposed that it would be left to her to do it. All of this was making her peevish and she did not even try to temper her irritation with the Bennet sisters. When the time had come when she should be departing, Elizabeth had not felt that she could leave her sister in that atmosphere.

Mrs. Hurst, she noticed, had mellowed since her frosty reception yesterday, and, although not affable by any means, was not actively seeking to belittle or disrespect either Bennet sister today. When Miss Bingley eventually announced her intention to leave the room to conduct her daily interrogation of the housekeeper, Elizabeth felt it would now be safe to leave Jane in Mrs. Hurst's company and, pleading fatigue, told the ladies that she would spend some time in her room. Miss Bingley, who had delighted in telling Elizabeth how ill she looked all morning, sent her off with an enthusiasm that was only barely appropriate. Now Elizabeth was late, by nearly twenty minutes, which only added to her concerns about their meeting.

Suffice it to say that Darcy was not pleased. He had arrived early for their rendezvous, putting off Bingley's request for him to meet with his steward; he was a busy man, the master of Pemberley, with many responsibilities, even when away from home, but he had made an appointment and kept it. If he could do this, he did not see why Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn village could not. The longer he waited, the more it spoiled the buoyant mood he had been in since last night.

He had slept easier than at any time since Elizabeth had come to stay at Netherfield. When she had turned up at breakfast, he had been happy to see her colour returned after their productive encounter of the night before (which had also had the benefit of taking his mind off of their less than pleasant previous interactions). After making his excuses at a twenty past eleven sharp, he had sauntered to the corner room where he would meet Elizabeth.

Its size and location would suggest that it had been a private sitting room and with large windows in the two corner walls it would have been bright, were it not for their greying nets and heavy curtains. In fact, the room was being used for storage and was full of a variety of mismatched pieces of furniture, most of which seemed to have come from the public rooms of the house. Their style was more ornate than the current fashion, and Darcy could easily imagine that they had not met with Miss Bingley's standards, hence their relinquishment to this room. Several tables, including a large dining table, were stacked on top of each other, legs jutting up into the air, and numerous sets of dining chairs and other seats were scattered around the room. There were also two couches, one of which was without its legs, the other was missing its cushions and only the hard wooden frame remained.

Darcy was reminded of the purpose of his visit here and that he needed to prepare the room for Elizabeth. Where would he put her? He took the only free path through the furniture into the centre of the room and left to the fireplace in the interior wall. It was empty and he would not be able to light it without drawing attention to his presence here. A little nook had been created around it, free of furniture except for a large high backed wing chair- which was perfectly functional, except for a rip in the upholstery- and a matching low footstool. The rest of the room was covered in dust and obviously unused, yet this area had a homely and comfortable air and it seemed that someone else, probably one of the servants, had had a similar idea to Darcy of commandeering the room for their own use. One could not recline on the chair, but it would have to do for Darcy's purpose and he spent a few moments considering how best to pose Elizabeth in it. He was agreeably engaged in this way for a few minutes- solving this erotic conundrum- before he noticed that she should have arrived by now. Checking his fob watch, he saw that she was more than five minutes late.

Arriving at the door fifteen minutes later again, a flustered Elizabeth knocked before she realised what she was doing. Not sure of the etiquette of secret rendezvous, she thought better of waiting for a reply and walked straight in. She would have liked to exude confidence in her entrance, but would have settled for composure as she stepped gingerly into the room and made sure to shut the door behind her. This was not enough for Darcy, it seemed, and he brusquely urged her to lock it. Her pulse raced as she did so before turning back to face him. He stood almost a room's length away from her, yet his presence was overpowering and now there was no way out. The room was a peculiar one, filled with odds and ends of furniture as it was, not to mention its unusual dimensions. It was not a small room, but the ornate ceiling was so high- the room was almost taller than it was wide- that it felt claustrophobic. Darcy stood near the fireplace pouting back at her and she was struck by how ridiculous he looked: primly dressed, watch in hand, surrounded by discarded sofas.

"You are late, Miss Bennet."

That statement set the tone for their engagement. Elizabeth had been so exhausted the night before that she had only a vague memory of it, apart from her coming undone, before collapsing with exhaustion. She did, however, recall his softened manner towards her and she had hoped that he would continue in this vein- a hope that had survived his polite, if not excessively friendly overture to her this morning. Realising now that he was still the same old Darcy spoiled her mood and she looked away from him thinking that she would love to be able to leave now.

He was looking at her expectantly and when she made a vague apology, he beckoned her towards his fireside nook. She looked about the room as she walked, taking in its clutter and even recognised a number of the pieces from her few visits to Netherfield before the previous occupants had left it. When she saw that Darcy was indicating to the wing backed chair, her eyebrows rose in surprise. Though enormous, it was made for one, and she would not be able to lie down on it: she did not see how this would work. For a horrifying moment she thought he wanted her to sit on his lap, before he clarified:

"Please, take a seat."

Still unsure, but relieved, Elizabeth took a seat in the chair, but Darcy did not immediately follow her in sitting. He was lost in thought looking down on her. Her self-consciousness was endearing to him and she looked very small in that big chair. His irritation melted and he gave her a tight smile before arranging his coat tails and sitting on the edge of the low stool. Due to the disparity in their seat heights, she was slightly higher than him. Elizabeth felt that they had never been in closer proximity, which she knew was ridiculous, considering what had passed between them, and since they weren't even touching. The informality of their position was somehow intimate, though, and she could not look him in the eye when she asked, "How should I… in this chair?" Darcy was immediately ready with an answer.

"Could you put a leg over each arm of the chair?"

She contemplated his suggestion and found that the seat of the chair was long enough that she could slouch down, rather inelegantly, and raise her legs enough to hang them over the arms while still keeping her seat. In doing so, however, she had to splay her legs wide open to the extent that she could not properly pull down her dress to cover her legs and she could feel her vagina winking open and shut as she moved, its lips pulled apart to reveal, she was sure, what lay inside, should anyone care to look. After some fussing with her skirts, she had to be satisfied with covering only her most private parts and leaving her legs visible.

Darcy had turned away to give her some privacy as she had arranged herself. When he turned back, her bare leg was the first thing that caught his attention, as he had never seen it before. His eyes followed the shapely line of her calf up to her inner thigh and down to the point of its termination, obscured by a tangle of muslin. At the sight of her spread wide before him, as she had been in only his filthiest dreams, he hoped that he was successful in hiding his agitation with a cough.

His next intake of breath brought a scent to his nose, sweeter than any he'd ever experienced. Her musky odour surrounded him and he suddenly understood why his stallion would throw his head and curl his upper lip at the scent of a mare. It was the type of reaction he wanted to allow himself. He longed for the liberty to somehow exhibit his fervent desire, even if he could not act on it in the only way that would sate him- by mounting Elizabeth right here. His enthusiasm was tempered with frustration and he was painfully aware of the bulge in his trousers as he calmed himself and asked her if she was ready to begin.

He was looking directly at her and she felt that she had to do the same when she answered that she was indeed ready. He reached down- confident now in his decision to continue with this course of action- and, without hesitation, located her clitoris with his thumb. He maintained eye contact as he placed his hand on her lower stomach, relishing the feel of her pubic hair. Darcy's dark gaze was affecting Elizabeth as much as his thumb and she knew that she was already soaking wet. She was mortified to hear the slurp of her juices on his thumb as it slid over her and she turned her head away.

Darcy was happy to see the effect he had on her: her pretty blushes were the only consolation he had in not achieving his own fulfilment. He also knew that the benefit Elizabeth derived from their meetings- as much as he would like to believe it was all down to his personal effect on her- was in large part due to the diversion it provided her from her worries. He decided to make a perverse game out of increasing her distraction: he would try to elicit the strongest reactions he could from her before this was over. With this in mind, he casually reached out and lifted her skirts, his eyes firmly fixed on her cleft. His hand on her stomach did not block his view and her sprawled pose laid everything open to him. He caught a glimpse of heaven before she gasped and pulled her skirt back down crying, "Do you mind!"

His only response was to raise an eyebrow, smirking vexingly, and slowly move his thumb down to trace her outer lips. She knew what this was- he was defying her to reject him, to tell him to remove his hands from her person, but she also knew that she could not do that, not until she had gotten what she needed. She huffed out a breath, tortured by the sensation of his touch, and allowed herself to close her eyes and rest her head on the chair back. She was outraged at him for what he had done. Had he been trying to take liberties (she doubted it, given his lack of one discernible human urge), or merely trying to discompose her with a spur of the moment prank? She was aware that his seeing her sex was not the same as a random gentleman hiking up her skirts in the middle of the drawing room- that a sort of confidence that had developed between them meant that this step by him was one too far, rather than the horrifying leap it would be for any other man. This insight in itself disturbed her as she did not want to share anything with him; have any familiarity between them.

Darcy, thinking her merely disconcerted by his forwardness, was still feeling quite pleased with himself. He had succeeded in distracting her and had proved once again that she wanted this, that he had as much power over her as she did him. Not to mention her wonderful moist aperture, that vision of loveliness that he had glimpsed, which would be the last thing he would see before sleep that night. He decided to continue his experimentation of the night before: he knew where he wanted go and after spending some time further exploring her folds, he, with deliberate leisureliness, thrust his middle finger into her hole as far as it would go. Her resounding grunt was a mixture of satisfaction, frustration and discomfort. Darcy began to move his finger in a beckoning motion inside her. It took some time for him to find the optimum combination of finger placement, movement and speed, but he knew he had hit on an efficacious technique when Elizabeth breathily murmured, "There!"

She gasped at her own wantonness, catching Darcy's eye. His steady gaze in return was not condemnatory, but amused and she was both reassured and furious. When he continued to move his strong, gentle finger as she had requested and added his thumb to her nub, she defiantly held eye contact. It wasn't easy as she was already feeling the effect of his methods and he knew it. His gloating smirk issued another challenge: 'I am going to make you come undone. Resist this if you dare.' The problem was that she did not want to resist. Whatever other exceptionally disagreeable traits he possessed, he was good at this. She had never before experienced the serenity she had at his hands and she would not forgo it just to spite him. She decided she would defy him in another way- she would give herself over so completely to the experience that he would be discomposed.

Her eyes glued to his, she gave in to her impulses as he continued to work on her- every groan and twitch that she felt compelled to make at his touch was realised- as her rising ardour signalled to both of them that she was close to the end. He was both captivated and terrified. How could he respond, without launching himself at her? As it happened, there was no time for him to think of a response, as she was moaning deeply with an almost pained look on her face, his astounded gaze driving her on. Her fingernails dug in to the arms of the chair, pulling her away from its back, and her body was rigid with rising expectation as she panted and murmured unintelligible oaths. She held Darcy's gaze resolutely, as difficult as it was for her to do so in her uncomfortable state. When that wave finally overtook her and she was submerged in it, she came hard with a cry voiced right in Darcy's face. Collapsing back, she finally broke eye contact satisfied that she had made her point and turned her head to enjoy the after effects, without allowing Darcy to ruin it for her.

Darcy felt drained but exhilarated from the experience and he extracted his finger with a squelch. He noticed that her juices had coated most of his hand. Elizabeth's skirt had ridden up quite a lot, but Darcy tried not to look: for some reason he knew it would not be right to do so, now that the encounter was over. He did not immediately leave the room, but removed himself to the fireplace, looking into it. This was pointless, as it was empty, but for Elizabeth's comfort, and to allow his own passions to cool, he continued to look away. He knew she was ready for him to turn around when she began to rustle her skirts as she fixed them, her feet once again lowered to the floor. He caught her eye and held out his hand to help her to her feet. She begrudgingly took it but removed her hand from his the moment she was standing. As she checked her appearance in the mirror over the fireplace, Darcy looked on, enjoying the intimacy their assignation was providing. When she caught him staring at her, he attempted to hide his embarrassment and, after an awkward moment, strode forward to open the door. He checked that they could safely leave and ushered her through it without a word said by either. They walked away in different directions, but both knew that they would be meeting here again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth did meet the next day, and the day after that, and over the next few mornings they settled into a routine. She was surprised that the secret did not eat at her, as she had thought that it would, and she did not regret her choice. This was helped by the absolute separation that she and Darcy maintained between their appointments and their daily lives. Darcy was his usual reserved self in company and, though not as dismissive of Elizabeth as he had once been, he only engaged her in conversation to contradict her delightfully (to his mind) spirited opinions. Their clandestine encounters were never mentioned between them outside of that room and Elizabeth, though not wishing to end their arrangement, cringed if even the most oblique reference to it was made.

One such occurrence arose when the residents of Netherfield were assembled in the drawing room before dinner on the evening following Darcy and Elizabeth's initial meeting. She had returned to her room afterwards to lie on the bed and enjoy the after effects. By the time she had dressed to go downstairs, she had thought that all evidence had been erased. Apparently this was not the case, as Bingley, ever the gentleman, had announced:

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet! How wonderful it is to see you looking so much better. I know that Miss Bennet has been rather worried for your health and I believe I speak for all of us when I tell you how delighted we all are that you seem to be feeling so much better. Indeed, you are quite glowing! Is she not Jane- I mean, Miss Bennet?"

The other occupants of the room were too much diverted by Bingley's slip of the tongue to notice Darcy's smouldering gaze or the object of his contemplation blushing vividly in response.

* * *

Darcy had become much more comfortable with their bizarre situation. Elizabeth's embarrassment was, understandably, more persistent, as she was in the more vulnerable and exposed position. On the second day of their arrangement, her discomfort reached its peak. As she reached completion, she withheld any vocal signal of her rapture only to have it spurt from her, in spite of herself, in the form of a liquid as confusingly satisfying as it was revolting to her. Most of the fluid had dribbled down the crevice of her buttocks and been absorbed by her chair, but it had also sprayed Mr. Darcy's breeches. His eyes widened in shock and- Elizabeth was sure- disgust, as he stared down at the stain on his knee. She hovered a moment, overcome by disbelief and humiliation, before scrabbling from the chair and bolting for the door, almost climbing over Darcy in the process.

He had said not a word at the time and made no attempt to cancel their meeting for the next day. She proceeded to the room- their room- the next morning, unsure of what she would find. Darcy was waiting as usual and, as he had evidently decided to ignore the incident of the day before, Elizabeth did the same. She noticed, however, as they took their places, that he had brought with him an extra handkerchief, which he carefully folded and placed on the chair beside her.

One day, after leaving Mr. Darcy and returning to her room, as had become her habit, she flung open the door ready to rush to the bed and throw herself upon it, when the sight of a perplexed Jane awaiting her arrested Elizabeth. She had been caught.

"I came up to see how you were- you've been so tired lately. Have you not been resting in your room as usual?" Jane was too good to allow any sarcasm or scorn to enter her voice.

"I… I was, but… I went down to the library to get a book," Elizabeth prevaricated; and in response to Jane's quizzical gaze at her empty hands, "I could not find the volume I was looking for- it was the one we were discussing last night, by Pope. I think Mr. Darcy may have taken it." _What are you doing? Do not mention Mr. Darcy!_ Luckily Jane was not suspicious by nature and was eager to believe her sister's excuse.

"Yes, I remember that _discussion_ as you call it. You were admiring Blake's poetry and Mr. Darcy felt it was excessively sentimental **( 1)**, which opinion, of course, you could not allow him. I have never seen two people happier to be arguing than you and Mr. Darcy. I'm sure Miss Bingley was scandalised at how opinionated you were." This was expressed with a smile and Elizabeth did not fear her sister's censure; though she was disturbed that not only her sister, but other members of the household, had recognised the tumultuous nature of her relationship with Mr. Darcy.

"I don't think happy is the applicable word," she replied. "Though it is satisfying when I get the better of him in a debate, as I believe did on that occasion."

"How could anyone with the slightest feeling think of Blake as 'excessively sentimental'?" _Trust Darcy to shun any expression of sensibility. The man doesn't trust its existence in others because it's entirely lacking in him!_

Jane's face took on a more sombre mien when she said, "You do not seem as fatigued today as you have done and I am glad of it. You know it would be a relief to me to know that you really are feeling better and I would not blame you, Lizzie, if you still needed this time to yourself every day: I know that you and Miss Bingley are not the best of friends."

It was the most direct acknowledgement of the discord in the house that Jane had ever made. Elizabeth took her sister's hands in her own and brought her to sit on the bed.

"I am sorry Jane. I have been terribly selfish. I should have realised that this situation was as difficult for you as it has been for me. And I have added to it by making you worry about me. It is true- I am well now. I still feel melancholy on occasion, but I can sleep and my appetite is returned; my mid-morning naps are not strictly necessary." She met Jane's eyes uneasily. "I simply feel that I could not spend a whole morning in their company and maintain my equanimity! And so I have been abandoning you. I am so very sorry."

"I had suspected as much, but did not want to mention it as your time alone seems to do you so much good. I cannot begrudge you that respite- I know that your temper was not made for confinement, especially with someone as disagreeable as Miss Bingley."

Elizabeth's eyes glinted with mischief.

"Jane, you wicked creature! To castigate poor, obliging Miss Bingley so," she teased, as Jane's self-satisfied smile at her own criticism indicated that it was safe to do so.

As Jane had brought it up, Elizabeth was now resolved on having that discussion that she had been postponing and continued more seriously.

"I cannot help but notice that relations between Mr. Bingley's sisters and yourself have soured. I won't deny that I am glad you may be finally seeing their true colours and will be more guarded with them in future, but I am sorry that you have had to withstand their cruelty, for cruelty is what it has been at times. And that is merely what I have seen. What must it have been like for you when I was confined to my rooms and you were left alone with them?"

"Lizzie, do not berate yourself! I will not deny that I was mistaken in my opinion of Miss Bingley, in particular, and her regard for me. It has been difficult, but my acquaintance with Mr. Bingley has been a great support, while you have been indisposed."

If her words had not confirmed her feelings towards the gentleman her delicate blush would have done so and the mood of the conversation altered from one of apology and sympathy to felicitations.

"Acquaintance! That is putting it lightly. Oh, I am so happy for you, Jane! Bingley's sentiments are evident for anyone to see." At Jane's spluttering denial that there was any cause fort congratulations, Elizabeth made pains to put her at ease.

"Be assured, I will not presume anything unless I hear it from your own lips- how is that? However, I will say that should you have any… agreeable intelligence to relate, I will congratulate you wholeheartedly on your most deserved happiness and do my best to be surprised."

They both giggled at Lizzie's ribbing, but seeing that Jane remained uncomfortable with the topic, Elizabeth searched for something else to discuss. When a stray thought entered her head, she wondered for a moment if she should mention it. Letting go of Jane's hands to play with the threads on the counterpane, she could not look at her sister when she remarked:

"I notice that Mr. Darcy has also been kind to you in the absence of Miss Bingley's friendship. I had never before seen him so attentive to you, or, indeed, to anyone." She left the question, _'Why is he so kind to_ _you_ _?'_ unsaid. The smile that grew on Jane's face was disconcerting to Elizabeth and she thought that she no longer wanted to know.

"Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. Though not as warm as Mr. Bingley, his consideration has been very much appreciated. Since we lost Papa and Mary, he has been very kind to me. He told me how he and his sister dealt with their grief on their father's death- it was reassuring to know that he has gone through what we have and understands our grief."

Elizabeth thought back to a day in the library when she had believed that Mr. Darcy had understood. It seemed like such a long time ago now. She couldn't deny that the continuation of the physical act was still welcome to her, but the compassion and empathy between them that day had never returned. She had almost forgotten the consolation that she had received when Darcy had spoken so openly to her, so that she had longed to cling to him like shelter in a storm. Elizabeth wondered for the first time where it had all gone wrong.

She did not trust herself to respond to Jane's praise of him and undertook again to change the subject.

"How can I help make this stay easier for you, Jane? Would you like to take ill and hide in your room? I could sneak up with biscuits and love notes from Mr. Bingley!"

"No, Lizzie, I don't think the household can take another fainting spell so soon after the last! Truly, though, I know you do not feel that you belong here- in fact I feel a little of that myself- but you should have seen the party when you fainted; they were genuinely concerned and the gentlemen in particular were very solicitous. Mr. Darcy was shouting orders like he was Master of the estate, instead of a guest of Mr. Bingley's. Of course he was only too happy to allow Mr. Darcy to exercise his authority for your benefit. As for

Mr. Hurst, though. Well, he was in his cups at the time, which must pardon him, but not even Louisa could silence his insinuations of lost virtue and signs that a woman is increasing." Jane's voice was reduced to a whisper at this point, and Elizabeth considered how innocent her sister seemed to her now.

"And the ladies?"

"Well, I do believe they were in shock- so much so that they were almost useless." Both sisters burst out laughing at this and continued so for several minutes, not merely due to Jane's uncharacteristically acerbic remark, but as a release from the tension that was always present in this house.

When Jane assured her that she was welcome to continue her morning routine of disappearing to her room, Elizabeth was reminded of her deceit and the real, illicit reason for her absences that she could never admit to Jane. A hollow that their momentary reconnection had filled reopened inside of her. Elizabeth only nodded in response, having entirely lost that weightless sensation she had felt before she walked in the door.

* * *

Though, for the most part, Elizabeth's meetings with Darcy continued routinely and he conducted himself with the same detachment that she had come to expect from him, some of his behaviour did confound her. He always began as coldly and indifferently as ever, but, like his errant lifting of her skirt, he would display odd quirks of behaviour at times, such as a forefinger run slowly along her inner thigh one morning. These outbursts, though isolated, were becoming harder to ignore. Elizabeth's annoyance built at his challenging her limits and she was on the brink of addressing this with him, though reluctant to do so, knowing as she did that the ensuing argument could spell the end of their arrangement.

Another worrying trend was Darcy's burgeoning habit of initiating conversation. As he was wiping his hand, he began one day by asking, "Have you had an opportunity to read 'An Essay on Criticism' **(2)**? I noticed that there is a copy in the library."

Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer this perfectly normal enquiry that had no place in this perfectly abnormal situation. She tried to formulate an answer as she lowered her legs to the ground and closed them as much as she could. Darcy had not moved away and his knees, butting against her chair, were now between hers, her skirt draping over them both. He leaned towards her awaiting an answer and Elizabeth felt that he was unnervingly close.

"No… not yet. I am in the middle of 'The Vision of Don Roderick'."

"I see. And are you enjoying it? I confess I have not read it, though the cause is one that is close to my heart- I have a cousin who fought in that campaign **(3)** "

Elizabeth merely stared in confusion at his attempt to carry on a conversation from between her legs. She wondered what he thought he was doing. Did he expect to have a civilised discussion here, in this room? She took a breath to answer, but released it without speaking. Before she could try again, Darcy seemed to have realised the absurdity of his actions and cleared his throat before he removed to the fireplace, returning to his usual routine.

* * *

After nearly a week of illicit meetings, Elizabeth was prepared for bed one evening, her hair tied in a loose plait over her shoulder, and was about to climb in when her door opened to admit an agitated Mr. Darcy.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet. I hope you are well," he said immediately on entering the room.

Elizabeth's initial reaction to his arrivalwas resentment. It was just like Darcy to discount her wishes and arrive without invitation. Yet again she was struck by her disgust at the familiarity which allowed him to enter her bedchamber unannounced. She remembered his reaction to her arriving at his door and had half a mind to offer a similar reception. She kept silent.

"I have come to realise that…" Darcy finally continued, "I have neglected to enquire after your health."

"My health." It was not a question, but a sardonic riposte borne out of sheer frustration and incredulity.

"Yes. Our arrangement was begun as a remedy to your insomnia. But, due to circumstances, we have had to conduct the… meetings earlier in the day and I was just wondering whether this has had an effect on the… effectiveness…"

Darcy's voice trailed off in uncharacteristic timorousness and he was mortified at his own stupidity. _Why are you here, you fool?_ It had been a spur of the moment decision and he had been trying to dissuade himself from appearing in her room ever since the thought had occurred to him. He could hardly believe that he had dared to go through with it.

"I am perfectly well, Mr. Darcy", Elizabeth finally replied. "I am sleeping comfortably these days. In fact I was just about to retire to bed when you arrived."

What, in her mind, was a hint for him to leave was, to Darcy, a most beautiful image and conjured all manner of satisfying conclusions to this encounter.

"Yes, well…," was as far as he got before Elizabeth interrupted.

"Mr. Darcy, you take a great risk in coming here at this time of the evening. As you have said yourself, it is not safe to be entering each other's rooms at night. Others are still awake in the house: Hattie has just left me and if you had been a few minutes earlier, you would have walked in on her brushing my hair."

This was intended to convey her disapproval, but Darcy was engrossed in a vision of such charming domesticity that he missed the bite in her voice.

"All is well Miss Bennet, I asked my valet to inform me when the maid had retired and I knew it was safe to come."

"What! Your valet knows you are here? I cannot believe that you would jeopardise my reputation in this way. What if he tells the other servants? We will be the talk of the house- of the entire village!"

Darcy moved forward, sorely tempted to take her hand.

"Do not make yourself uneasy. You may rest assured that my valet will not mention this to a soul. Murray has worked for my family since he was a boy and he is utterly trustworthy; I would not have risked involving him otherwise."

Elizabeth was livid at his presumption and carelessness- careless of her reputation, at little risk to himself. Her anger was not assuaged by the thought that this Murray must have assisted Darcy through many such intrigues.

"Even if he does not say anything- and I still cannot believe that you would risk it- do you not care that he now knows at least something of what has gone on between us? What must he think of me?" Here she coloured deeply at her own admission of the immorality of their arrangement.

"I had not thought of it," Darcy finally responded frankly, after wrestling with her question for a moment, before lifting his chin and regaining his composure.

"I am not in the habit of courting the good opinion of my servants."

" _Or of anyone_ ," she muttered under her breath.

"Even allowing that your valet is discreet, anyone could have seen you in the corridor- and Jane has a habit of coming to my room at night. What would she say if she saw you here? I think it is best that you return to your room and we not meet, other than at the arranged time." Her tone made it clear that he was dismissed from her presence.

Elizabeth moved to the door and grasped the handle waiting for him to leave, silently urging him to do so with a stern glare. Darcy had never felt so chastised in all his adult life. Her firm voice cut through him and it was all he could do not to hang his head as he walked to the door.

"Well… Good night," was all the farewell he bid her as she opened it warily and checked that the corridor was empty. He did not wait for her to respond before leaving, and she would not have answered him if he had, so irritated was she.

* * *

Their meeting the next day was fraught with apprehension for both as the negative feelings of both had fermented overnight- shame in his case and anger in hers. Darcy knew not what would have happened had Elizabeth not had the sense to dismiss him from her room. He feared what he would have said as much as what he might have done. He had been displeased with her at the time for rejecting him, but, on reflection, saw it as proof of her wisdom and integrity. However, last night had been a warning for Darcy. He had fooled himself into believing that he could have his cake and eat it too- that he could become involved with Miss Bennet (for Miss Bennet she must be from now on, never Elizabeth), and remain unaffected by her charms. He had spent the night contemplating the gradual degradation in his behaviour, which he had hardly noticed at the time. How could he have gone from the sombre decorum on which he had prided himself to the lecherous beast he had recently become? The fact that he could not stop himself from importuning Miss Bennet last night alarmed him and he knew that it would only get worse.

When she entered, Darcy could see that she was as uncomfortable as he and Elizabeth knew by his thunderous expression that the matter was not at an end.

"I hope you slept well," he spoke stridently.

When she replied that she had, he continued, determined to settle the matter quickly.

"You seem, in general, to be in much better spirits of late."

"Yes. In general, I am. For that I thank you… for your efforts." It pained her to say it, but she felt that she had to for the sake of civility, though neither was gratified by it.

"It almost seems as if… as if this," here Mr. Darcy gestured to the wing backed chair and stool, obviously referring to what they represented, "is no longer required."

Now Elizabeth understood what he was about and her stomach dropped. Not only would there be trouble today, he was revoking his support altogether because she had had the audacity to defy him. Part of Elizabeth had been expecting this: he had always insisted that this be on his terms and now that she had demanded the slightest control- over what happened in her own bedroom- he had withdrawn. Elizabeth felt her heartrate increase as she thought of the desperate nights she had spent. She dreaded returning to that state. There was another fear too, but she would not acknowledge it. Unbidden thoughts entered her head: thoughts that surged out of the deep and startled her as if inserted into her mind by another; thoughts such as, _'He prefers Jane to you_.'

Striving for complacency, Elizabeth replied, "You may be right. If you wish to discontinue our arrangement, that, of course, is your choice."

"I have been corresponding with my solicitor on a matter that has turned out to be more complicated than I at first thought. I believe that I will need to address the difficulty in person. I hesitate to terminate our arrangement on such short notice, but given your admission that it is no longer needed, I will ask your leave to do just that."

Elizabeth had never heard such a self-serving, cold speech cloaked in such courteous language. She had no choice but to assent, however, and Darcy jumped at the opportunity to be rid of her.

"I will be leaving tomorrow for a short sojourn in London to settle the matter."

"How short?" She could hear the anxiety in her own voice and hated herself for it.

A smile played across Darcy's lips as he said, "I am not sure. I may have to extend my trip, depending on how the situation concludes."

He hated to lie to her, but it was for the best. It would not be a short sojourn. He would not be coming back and he would never see Eliz… Miss Bennet again. He could not afford to.

Darcy knew that he shouldn't, but the manner in which she had asked about his return had melted his lingering offence of the night before and he wanted to bask in her regard. He did not wish to leave her yet and in an attempt to extend their conversation he remarked:

"Bingley will join me in London."

This information affected her almost as much as news of his own impending removal had and he was perplexed by her reaction.

"Mr. Bingley will not be gone long, I trust?" Elizabeth asked.

"I cannot say. He is a capricious creature and he is liable to change his mind at the drop of a hat. It would not surprise me if her were to arrive in London and decide to stay till Christmas."

Elizabeth was, by now, distressed, though trying desperately to hide it.

"I had thought… Mr. Bingley seemed so attached to the area."

Darcy understood her implication perfectly. He too had witnessed Bingley's marked preference for Jane Bennet and, had he not been distracted by a Bennet sister of his own, he would have taken Bingley aside and warned him of the expectations he was liable to excite. Now he saw those expectations in the flesh and he felt he had a duty to, through her sister, put Jane Bennet on her guard.

"Bingley is young and still trying to find his way in the world. Taking this estate is just the first step on that road. I do not expect him to settle here permanently, whatever he may say to the contrary."

Darcy hoped that she would take his meaning and leave it at that. The sooner he could turn the conversation to a more pleasant subject the better: this was not how he wanted his final moments alone with her to be spent.

"But what about Jane," whispered Elizabeth?

Darcy belatedly recognised her dismay and realised that it was entirely consistent with her loving character and warm relationship with her sister to take any offence to that lady to heart. He continued more carefully.

"Miss Bennet, I hope your sister is not under the misapprehension… Might I ask- what exactly is the nature of her acquaintance with Bingley?"

"Mr. Bingley has not told you?"

"He would not break any confidence he had with your sister."

After a few moments' thought, Elizabeth replied, "I am not aware that an understanding exists between my sister and your friend. Nevertheless, anyone can see the attentions he pays to her. Are you telling me that he has no serious intentions towards her?"

"Given all I know of Bingley, I do not believe that he will marry your sister: he has fancied himself in love many times in the past with much more eligible ladies."

"And just what do you mean by that?"

Darcy was growing impatient with this topic and answered quickly, without thought to the tactlessness of his words. "Miss Bennet, I do not wish to insult you or your sister, but you must see that, given your family's financial position, not to mention your sister's dubious connections, it would be a very advantageous marriage indeed for her- more so than she could ordinarily aspire to. You cannot be surprised by these obstacles to the match and their possible influence on Bingley."

"Your family's situation is well known in Meryton- you must have given some thought to its impact on your own prospects."

Darcy's face was bright red by the end of this speech. Elizabeth was too shocked by its implications for Jane to take notice of his highly improper discussion of her own marriageability.

"Dubious connections? I suppose you mean our uncles in trade." She was barely able to keep her temper, but would ensure she got the answers she wanted before making any riposte to Darcy's assertions.

"Yes, that is part of it. Bingley's family has so recently risen from trade themselves, that it would be a significant regression for them to be reconnected to such a sphere. But that is not the only connection to which I refer."

Darcy almost wished that he had not said the last, but could not stop himself. He hoped that she would not question him further.

"To which other connection do you refer?" Her voice was icy and he knew before he had even answered that he would offend her, but would not divert from the truth.

"I refer to her connection to your own immediate family whose conduct is so indecorous. Perhaps you have become inured to their behaviour, but I, for one, was outraged when I first witnessed their antics at the assembly in Meryton. Your mother was airing her ambitions towards myself and Bingley, so that half the room could hear and your younger sisters were scandalous in their conduct."

He was really warming to the subject now; it reassured him of his own beliefs and bolstered his decision to leave.

"At every other gathering where I have observed them, I have cringed at the lack of propriety almost universally displayed by your family. Even your father-"

"Do not mention my father!"

Elizabeth was visibly shaking now as she cut Darcy's diatribe short. He had been in full flow and had not thought to temper his censure of her late father.

In clipped tones she concluded, "I will thank you not to criticize a dead man. I asked your meaning and you have shared it with me. I now more clearly understand Mr. Bingley's character and motivations and will advise my sister accordingly."

There was no point, Elizabeth realised, in quarrelling with Darcy: there would be no talking him out of his opinions and she had suddenly lost her usual zeal for an argument with him. He was clearly not in favour of the match and she knew that he would do all he could to prevent it. She felt all the futility of Jane's aspiring to a marriage so unanimously opposed on the gentleman's side. She had never before disliked Mr. Bingley's easy nature, but now considered how disadvantageous it was. If Darcy's claims of his inconsistency were correct, she would not wish for the match to take place in any case, even to spare her sister heartache in the short term.

Elizabeth turned away stiffly, took the well-worn path through the furniture and walked out the door with not so much as a backward glance at Mr. Darcy. He remained in the room, affected more than he liked by their parting, but excused it as being due to the hostility of her final words and not his heart's crying out that he was making a terrible mistake.

* * *

 **(1) ** Darcy and Elizabeth both refer in this chapter to a debate that they had on poetry (unseen). Elizabeth favours William Blake, who was a Romantic poet of the time. The Romantics celebrated instinct, intuition and spontaneity and his contemporaries (and Darcy, here) criticised Blake for his idiosyncratic views and belief in mysticism and the primacy of sentiment in poetry. His poem Milton was published around this time.

 **(2)** Darcy prefers the poets of the Age of Enlightenment (the dawn of modern science), The New Augustans who thrived on scepticism, decorum and intellectual control. He cites Alexander Pope and his poem 'An Essay on Criticism' as an example. Elizabeth hadn't read it and Darcy recommended it to her.

. /2010/06/poetry_the_enlightenment_and_

wiki/William_Blake#Development_of_Blake.27s_views

 **(3)** The Vision of Don Roderick by Sir Walter Scott was published in this year (1811). It celebrated the recent victories of the Duke of Wellington during the Peninsular War, and proceeds of its sale were to raise funds for Portugal. It is my own supposition that Colonel Fitzwilliam would have been involved in the war.

wiki/The_Vision_of_Don_Roderick


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The days following the gentlemen's departure from Netherfield were grim indeed. Miss Bingley, free from the restraint imposed by her brother's and favourite's presence let loose her ire on one and all. She had heard whisperings of an improper attachment between Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet and, after haranguing the collected staff below stairs for rumour mongering, she still had rage to spare. Neither servants nor family were safe, but she saved her most cutting remarks for the Bennet sisters. She had learned that Elizabeth had claws of her own and, without the need to impress Darcy, she was less eager to harass such a capable opponent. Though Elizabeth still received her fair share of attention from the harridan, Jane's mild temperament was the proxy object of Caroline's hectoring.

It was to the relief of all that a note from Mrs. Bennet was received at the end of the week. That lady had heard through her usual channels that Mr. Bingley had departed Netherfield. As she now saw no pressing reason to keep the girls there without him, the considerable need she felt to bring them home led her to demand, in unnecessarily urgent language, that they return post haste.

One might wonder what had become of the scarlet fever epidemic in Longbourn village, which had necessitated their staying so long. Mrs. Bennet, after over a month of her daughters' absence, felt her need was so great that she was willing to take the (admittedly small) risk of her daughters contracting the illness at this stage and, as she so sympathetically remarked, _' it's only the Gordons who still have it now, and we never visit them anyway.'_ The reason for her impetuosity was the forthcoming visit of one Mr. William Collins Esq. heir of Longbourn estate. Mrs. Bennet's ambitions towards him were so eager as to be perfectly intelligible from only the short note the ladies had received and, though grateful to be going home, the sisters did so with not unalloyed enthusiasm.

So eager was Ms. Bingley to see them gone that she offered the service of any in the house who might ready the ladies more swiftly. So it was that they were whisked upstairs and appointed a maid each to pack their things, while Ms. Bingley herself wrote a short missive to confirm that she would reluctantly release the ladies and to beg for the Bennets' carriage to be sent within the hour. While her trunks were being carried down to the carriage, Elizabeth found herself- on her meandering route out of the house- in the secret room on the second floor. What she hoped to achieve by being there, she hardly knew, but found that there was little comfort to be had in staring for ten minutes at a stain in the upholstery.

When they arrived home a short while later, the uproar that greeted them was such that the absence now-permanently- of two of the household was not immediately obvious, itself a cause of deep sadness to Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet had found additional energy in her widowhood, and relinquished none of her absurdity with her removal into mourning apparel. She was bustling from room to room complaining about the preparations that needed to be made for Mr. Collins' arrival but was in such a state of agitation, and her orders, so scattered and contradictory that Mrs. Hill had long since resigned herself to listen and nod and then get on with it under her own guidance. The younger girls had been worked up into a frenzy by their mother's fretfulness and Kitty, particularly, seemed to be under the apprehension that the family's very survival was dependent on the removal of dust from the top of the cabinets.

On seeing her daughters returned after several weeks Mrs Bennet's greeting was warm, but surprisingly brusque. She addressed their father's and sister's deaths in a passing way and immediately enlisted the two, allowing them only enough time to remove their spencers, to help in the confused preparations. They ended the day feeling that it was entirely wasted, but exhausting all the same.

The following morning Lizzy left the house early before the family awoke and, instead of her usual route into the countryside, she turned into the churchyard near the house. She made her way through the settled graves of decades' and even centuries' occupancy, picturesque in their overgrown decay, to those of her father and sister. They were an open wound in the landscape, a heap of raw earth, without headstones or grave edging and the only indication of their presence was a rough crosses that would be left there until the ground had settled. In this they were lucky. Other mounds could be seen- many of them tiny to fit undersized occupants- and Elizabeth knew that some of the dead here would never receive an epitaph.

When she got home, the family were just sitting down to breakfast- her father's chair empty- and she felt out of step with them all as they chattered. If she had not thought of it before, Elizabeth now realised that life here would never go back to what it had been and her home was not the one she had left; without her father's scepticism to balance her mother's anxieties, their home was mired in simpleminded frivolity. Elizabeth herself had changed also. Now removed from Netherfield, she could look back dispassionately on her actions there. It was not just an isolated period that would be forgotten now that it was over and she had left that house: it had altered her view of the world immeasurably. She also had to admit that she missed it. _It-_ she could never say him. That stay, and her liaison with Darcy, though she could not look back on them with any degree of complacency, had at least been full of life: even at his worst, he had never bored her. Now, she was in a house that reminded her only of death and her life as it stretched out before her felt stagnant and hopeless.

A number of days after their arrival at Longbourn, Jane received a letter from Miss Bingley which was as distressing to Elizabeth as to herself. Miss Bingley, now restored to her former affection for Jane with the latter's absence, bemoaned the lack of her company, but informed Jane that she and the remaining party at Netherfield had determined to quit the neighbourhood and follow the gentlemen to London. She did intimate that she believed they would stay for quite some time and made enough thinly veiled allusions to suggest that her brother was close to an understanding with Mr. Darcy's sister, Georgiana. Jane was careful not to give voice to her anguish, but felt it keenly. Elizabeth was scarcely less upset, but considerably less surprised. She had thought that Darcy would work on Mr. Bingley once they reached London and present to him all the evils which he felt would make the match an inferior one. Ms. Bingley clearly had a similar scheme. Jane was fearful- and Elizabeth had no doubt- that they had seen the last of the party at Netherfield. Only Mrs. Bennet remained ebullient in her certainty of Mr. Bingley's imminent return.

* * *

Mr. Collins' arrival the next week was handled with all the dignity of which Mrs. Bennet was capable. He was less concerned with ceremony than a quick entry to the house. Despite Mrs. Bennet's assurances that the danger from the fever was minimal, and his eagerness to inspect his inheritance before any unfortunate misappropriation could take place, he would take no chances: for the duration of his visit Mr. Collins avoided leaving the house unless absolutely necessary and, when outside the gates of Longbourn, took to covering his face with a handkerchief and cowering into the carriage seats when passing the Gordons' cottage on the Meryton road.

They were duly acquainted, through his exalting report, with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Collins' patroness, whom he brought up in almost every conversation. She had been very displeased to learn of Mr. Bennet's demise, lest she lose her parson so soon after appointing him. Mr. Collins had, on her insistence, decided to lessen her inconvenience by staying on in Hunsford for at least a twelvemonth, before Lady Catherine need renew a search to fill the position. This was also cause for relief to the Bennets and Mrs. Bennet sought to recommend to Mr. Collins the benefits of an occupied house for the preservation of furnishings and prevention of structural decay.

Mr. Collins' primary purpose in coming to Longbourn was to inspect his inheritance and he did so with supercilious vulgarity. For Elizabeth's part, the man was insufferable and inescapable, as he saw it as being within his rights to dog the family in their daily business and question them indelicately as to the state of the accounts and the sort of living the estate could afford. The sight of him playing at landlord in her father's library and overseeing every meal from her father's chair was hard for her to stomach.

His other purpose in arriving quickly revealed itself in his frequent compliments to his _'fair cousins'_ and clumsy allusions to what he felt certain would be his future marital felicity in this house. After an initial interest with Jane was discouraged by Mrs. Bennet with painful tactlessness, Elizabeth came to know the full force of his charm. He cleaved to her side like a whelk and even during such feminine activities as the distillation of lavender water she could not detach him. There was not even the dubious consolation of irony to be had in his company. Jane had not the heart to ridicule the man, the others, not the wit and, without a partner in her exploits, exposing this man's ridiculousness was a lonely and unsatisfying business.

On becoming aware of Mr. Collins' intentions, which she did immediately for they were not very subtly conveyed, Elizabeth forced herself to consider the possibility of marriage to the man. Previously, she would not have even entertained the notion, but times had changed. She had always thought of her mother as a silly woman and disregarded most of what she said, thanks in part, she was displeased to realise, to her father's influence; but she now comprehended that her mother's fears, if not her articulation of them, were reasonable and justified. A marriage to Mr. Collins would solve many of their problems, problems that were urgent and dire- there would be neither dignity nor contentment to be had, languishing in genteel poverty with a house full of spinsters. However, had she been more of an innocent, she may have been able to delude herself as to the realities of life as Mrs. Collins, but as it was she could not consider taking that post, without thinking of him imitating Mr. Darcy's actions, or going even further, as a husband would, and images of such sweaty breathlessness invaded her mind that she felt physically ill.

Given her violent aversion for every aspect of the man and dread of being forced into intimacy with him, even the distress of the family's situation could not possibly coax her to accept any offer that might come. She began to actively discourage his attentions, with the secondary motive being her hope that, as long as he did not declare himself and his disappointment was not generally known, he would not feel the need to avenge his wounded pride on the family as a whole.

Mrs. Bennet's machinations to throw the two together did not help this, but Elizabeth found that, when she allowed her wit to run free with more regard for truth than politesse, Mr. Collins soon discovered of his own accord that perhaps Miss Elizabeth would not make the most suitable bride; by which he meant that she would offend Her Ladyship. He came to this realisation once and for all when Elizabeth informed him icily that no, she did not in fact believe that Mrs. Wollstonecraft Godwin had been a promiscuous harlot, whose tragic life was God's retribution for her unnatural pretensions **(1)**. _If only he knew,_ she thought. _If only I could tell him of my own conduct- it would be the most effective way to be rid of him._

This was unnecessary, it turned out as an unexpected and unwelcome consequence of their disagreement was the immediate and unseemly transference of his affections to the next sister in line, which now was Kitty- for he had his orders to marry and would follow them resolutely. Kitty, ostensibly out in society, but never having received genuine interest from any gentleman, was at once bewildered and terrified by the clammy courtesies that were bestowed upon her. Had Elizabeth been pressed to predict Kitty's reaction to this adoration, she would have thought it would involve her giggled exclamations of horror with Lydia under the covers of their shared bed. She had not taken account, however, of the alarm Kitty was feeling in a house that she knew was no longer their own and without the presence of her father and protector, who had ever been a constant, if disapproving, presence in her life. Mrs. Bennet's prophecies of doom had preyed on her in her fragile state of mind and caused her to pause before issuing the reflexive rejection of his interest that she would otherwise have given.

Mrs. Bennet soon came to see which way the wind was blowing, and turned the might of her cajoling and bullying on Kitty, a more satisfyingly pliable target than Elizabeth had ever been. It was under this pressure from both her mother and prospective husband that Kitty met Mr. Collins in the morning room after breakfast one morning and was persuaded to accept his application, which was neither gratifying nor brief. The gentleman even had the daring to seal their agreement with an embrace and it was a pale and feeble Kitty that exited the room fifteen minutes later.

Not all her elder sisters' pleading and persuading could change her mind. Even Lydia exerted herself to present the evils of her decision to her favourite sister, but to no avail, and Kitty was determined to sacrifice her happiness for safety. She would marry Mr. Collins, a man almost ten years her senior and of twice her girth, whose endearment of 'Fair Catherine' made her skin crawl. If she did waver in her decision, her affectionate mother was always on hand to reinforce the fears which made the basis for her choice.

Though, ordinarily, six month's deep mourning would need to be observed before even a proposal was broached, Lady Catherine's expectations for Collins to be settled and Mrs. Bennet's desire for him to be caught were strong enough that a raised eyebrow or two could not prevent the parties involved in having the business concluded within a month. Mr. Collins had returned to Rosings during this time and received Lady Catherine's approval, who favoured the description of the weak and pliant girl he had described and fancied that she could mould her according to her own considerable talents in areas as diverse as household management and animal husbandry.

Kitty dealt with the change in her circumstances better than expected. Her engagement was so short that she had little time to contemplate her future and her mother's gleeful approval of her was satisfying, though unfamiliar. She had not entirely given up her girlish fantasies and was desperately disappointed not to have even the customary small country wedding; some concessions must be made to the family's mourning and it was a rather drab affair. After a private wedding breakfast, the couple departed for Hunsford and a distraught Kitty, finally hit by the implications of her decision, could be seen gazing out of the carriage window like a trapped animal as it trundled out of the gate. The scene was distressing to all but Mrs. Bennet, who vocally congratulated herself on her good luck and clever manoeuvring to bring the match about. Elizabeth, who knew some of what was in store for Kitty that night, could only imagine her shivering in her nightdress as chubby fingers groped her delicate flesh. She was inconsolable, angry and wretched in equal measure, but managed to contain her sobs until she was alone in her room.

* * *

 **(1)** Mary Wollstonecraft was a prominent 'feminine philosopher', or feminist as we would call it, in the late nineteenth century. She died of infection after childbirth in 1797. Her husband published her memoirs, which revealed her illegitimate children, affairs and suicide attempts. She was predictably castigated for her views on gender equality as well as her unconventional lifestyle and was famously called a 'hyena in petticoats'. Her reputation was posthumously ruined by this and her prominence ended up doing harm to the feminist cause.

 _/fact_ ?ccode=Fem &ctyp=0_


	9. Chapter 9

**Recap:** Mr. Bennet and Mary passed away from Scarlet Fever while Jane and Elizabeth were staying at Netherfield (November 1811) and the quarantine on Longbourn meant that the sisters had to stay for over a month. During this time Mr. Darcy became close to Elizabeth in a way that made them both uncomfortable and Mr. Bingley's increasing attentions to Jane infuriated his sisters. Darcy left for London, bringing his friend with him and, when the Bennet sisters returned home, the rest of the Netherfield party followed (December 1811). The heir to Longbourn, Mr. Collins, visited (December 1811) and, while staying at Longbourn, proposed to an anxious Kitty, marrying her a month later (January 1812).

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Prior to Kitty's marriage and removal to Hunsford in late January, the Bennets had not ventured much into Meryton, being in mourning as they were. The main exceptions to this were Mrs. Bennet's joyous visits to her sister Phillips on the announcement of said engagement and the excursions to the milliner's which no force could prevent Lydia from taking.

As such, the militia's arrival in the town shortly before Christmas, though eagerly discussed by the family, was not directly witnessed by them and they did not have the opportunity to become acquainted with any of the officers. This was despite their aunt's eagerness to include them in any parties she would throw and their mother's willingness to bend the rules of mourning so that they could do so. It was only Jane and Elizabeth's warning and pleading that prevented their mother and younger sisters from flouting all propriety and landing down at the Meryton assembly the following month.

They did learn something of the soldiers through their aunt's visits to Longbourn. Certain officers seemed more popular with the young ladies of Meryton than others, and came to Mrs. Phillips' attention, given her ravenous thirst for gossip. So it was that the ladies of Longbourn came to be familiar with such names as Forster, Denny and Sanderson and felt almost as if they knew these men, whose faces they couldn't have picked out of a crowd. One man, though, was loved above all others and predominated in their aunt's stories: He danced with the ladies, flattered the Mamas and engaged the people of Meryton with a combination of charisma and good humour, so that even the men were charmed by him. The name on everybody's lips was Mr. Wickham.

* * *

By the spring, Elizabeth, after the furore of the wedding was over, had settled into a shadow of her previous routine- the essentially useless existence that an unmarried lady of gentle birth was expected to live. She had been eager to assume a more active role, assuring Mr. Collins that she could run the estate in her father's stead and that only a bailiff would be needed to assist **(1)**. Mr. Collins' seemed quite disturbed by her father's seeing fit to educate her on such matters and even his tendency towards penny-pinching, would not allow her to continue in this vein.

Elizabeth had never before considered that there was anything untoward in her father's actions in having her regularly join him in his study and double check the accounts: she supposed that it had started as an educational exercise and later become a convenience for him, but, as she had matured and her father had come to recognise her intellect, she had taken a broader role: Mr. Bennet would discuss with her any complex decisions to be made, from new agricultural practices to hiring and firing labourers and her opinion became indispensable to him.

She had taken her relationship with her father for granted prior to his death and had never really questioned their unconventional bond, but now recognised its oddity. She was the only one of his daughters that was given this treatment and even Jane was not included in their conferences. Thinking back on it, she realised that her father had been treating her as he would have done an heir and that their evenings spent surrounded by dusty accounts books and agricultural manuals may have been the greatest sign of respect and affection that he had ever shown her.

It could also be said that Mr. Bennet had moulded Lizzy into his ideal of what a woman should be- the type of woman who he would have liked to have married. This just happened to be the direct opposite of his own wife, which was not surprising given his obvious dissatisfaction in their union. This notion saddened Lizzy when she thought of her father's poor judgement and impulsivity in choosing a wife based (she was disgusted to surmise) purely on sexual attraction, and the misery it had caused them both. At the same time, she could only esteem her father when she considered the respect for women's abilities in general, if not for his own spouse in particular, that his education of Elizabeth implied.

If Mr. Collins' disgust was any indication, however, Elizabeth's knowledge of estate administration would not be considered an accomplishment by the men of the world in general. Of course she had had nothing to do with the public facets of the estate's management, nor had she had any contact with the tenants, other than in her more traditional charitable activities as the landlord's daughter; but even her intellectual involvement was abhorrent to Mr. Collins and he insisted on hiring a steward.

* * *

Elizabeth's introspection, as well as her boredom, led her to resume her routine of walking the countryside with renewed vigour and she often spent most of the morning out of doors **(2)** . She particularly enjoyed doing so on blustery, wet days, when she would meet no-one and could forget her worries, running along muddy lanes and trudging through damp fields. She spent many an hour sheltering under the canopy of an obliging tree, staring out at the fields around her and imagining that her life could be different.

Her restlessness would follow her home, no matter how far she walked, and she would retire to bed every night fatigued in body, but restless in spirit. She knew of at least one method to subdue this confusion, had witnessed it, experienced it and was confident that she could successfully replicate it. Only Jane's presence on the other side of the bed prevented her from attempting it.

Elizabeth was on her usual walk one day- a dry, but gusty day- one no casual rambler would suffer. She was tramping uphill to Oakham Mount when a deep growl of thunder filled the darkening sky. She knew what would soon follow and footed it to the summit, where a copse of trees and its newly unfurled foliage would provide some cover. She could not reach it before the clouds opened, however, and was soaked through by the time she could duck under its dense canopy. The floor beneath was, thankfully, dry in places and she knew she could shelter here until the storm abated. The noise of the trees thrashing and the rain teeming distracted her so that she jumped in surprise when, on turning to stare out of the thicket, she heard an amused male voice from amongst the trees.

"I had not thought to meet another walker out in such treacherous conditions, least of all one so gentile."

She spun around to identify the speaker, only to set eyes on the most beautiful face she had ever seen on a man. She had never before thought of any man as being beautiful; she had seen handsome men, distinguished-looking men, but this man, whose feature were so perfect as to be mesmerising and whose person was so fine that he could have been sculpted from the Kanon, could not be described as anything short of beautiful **(3)**. The officer- for his attire identified him as such- was standing in a relaxed, but respectful pose some distance away. His apparel and grooming were spotless and Elizabeth could only imagine what a sight she must present- a wilting, bedraggled rat of a girl. Any alarm she might have felt on finding herself alone with a strange man was immediately disarmed by his gentle smile and easy manner.

"My apologies for startling you, Madam. I saw the rainclouds massing and thought to take cover here before the deluge began."

"I see I had the right of it," he declared with a laugh in his voice, while glancing out at the torrent.

"It is nothing, sir. It is just that I too did not expect to meet anyone here. I had a similar idea myself, but was not fast enough to prevent my total saturation." His charm united with her innately informal nature made her feel perfectly at ease. "You are in the militia, are you not?"

"I am indeed- and very happy to be presently stationed in Meryton, might I add. The general populace have welcomed us most graciously and I do not believe there is a more pleasant town in the country, especially when I can enjoy views such as this one," he proclaimed, gesturing to the open countryside in the valley below. His amiable praise of her home could not but recommend him to Elizabeth.

After a moment's thought he seemed to recall where they were, "I beg your pardon, but I should not be here with you unaccompanied. Please, accept my apologies for any discomfort I have caused you."

With this he bowed formally and would have walked out of the grove and into the lashing rain, had Elizabeth not stopped him. "Please, do not. I would not hear of your going out there in this weather. I cannot adhere to any standard of decorum which would compel me to force a gentleman out into a storm, for no other offense than being inconveniently located. It will ease presently I am sure, and we can both go our separate ways. No-one will be any the wiser."

The gentleman seemed hesitant to comply, but remained under the canopy undecided. Elizabeth sought to reassure him by introducing herself. "My name is Elizabeth Bennet. I live at Longbourn, which is about a mile from here." She curtseyed slightly, but felt rather ridiculous doing so in her current state in the middle of a wood.

His face lit up as he returned the compliment and introduced himself as George Wickham of the _ regiment _._ Elizabeth was not entirely surprised at his identity, given her aunt's previous admiration, and she began to think that perhaps Mrs. Phillips' compliments of the man's person and manner were not exaggerated.

He expressed his surprise that he had never met her in Meryton. "As you see I am in mourning- for my father," she said gesturing to her still sodden dress, dyed grey for the purpose.

"Oh yes, of course. I am so very sorry for your loss. Whenever I see a lady in mourning attire it brings back memories of my own mother after my father's death: she was devoted to him. Unfortunately she died not long after him."

"So, you see, I know a good deal about mourning myself," he added with a sad smile. Elizabeth merely nodded in response and a sympathetic silence followed.

Mr. Wickham soon roused himself from his reflections. "I must tell you that, though I have never met any of the Bennets, I know your family, by reputation. I am acquainted with your aunt and uncle, I believe, Mr and Mrs. Phillips. They have been so kind as to extend a general invitation to the officers to several card parties they have held. I only regret that your state of mourning has prevented you from joining the party. But they are a jovial pair, to be sure!"

"Why yes they are. I thank you, sir for you compliments." Elizabeth was delighted with him and, disposed to further their acquaintance, did not try to hide her enjoyment of his company.

"My aunt in particular is very generous in keeping us up to date with the comings and goings in Meryton. So, you see Mr. Wickham, I too must admit that your name is familiar to me, as you are a constant in her news reports. I believe I already know quite a bit about you and have been curious to meet you." Her arch smile heightened Wickham's pleasure at finding that she had wished to make his acquaintance.

He regarded her intently for a moment before replying with quiet intensity: "Well then, Miss Bennet, I am pleased to make your acquaintance… at last."

* * *

Kitty and Mr. Collins, when they had married, had not taken a honeymoon, much to Kitty's lament, and had immediately returned to the bosom of Lady Catherine's benevolence. This had been quickly followed by two letters from Kitty, whose missives were full of frivolous observations and petty complaints about her new situations and Lady Catherine's tyranny. Of her other responsibilities, she was thankfully silent- indeed Mr. Collins barely rated a mention in Kitty's correspondence, except as a source of vexation.

After a short time Kitty's correspondence became more sporadic and lacklustre. Her letters began to hint at the problems she dealt with in her responsibilities as mistress of the parsonage and it soon became clear that she was struggling with the role she had taken on and was feeling the pressure of trying to fulfil it under the watchful eyes of an overbearing patroness and an increasingly disillusioned husband.

One morning at the breakfast table, Mrs. Bennet received a letter from Mr. Collins, his first, apart from a short thank you note, since the wedding. Still delighted with her achievement in that quarter, she slit open the wax seal with her dirty knife, gleefully anticipating joyful news.

"Oh, what news could this be? And so soon!"

After scanning through the first few paragraphs which extended his effusive civilities, her face dropped on reaching the heart of the letter and discovering that it did not bring the happy tidings she had anticipated. She read the long missive, finishing it with a tight-lipped annoyance that informed her daughters that, though the letter was displeasing to her, it did not contain any really grave news.

"Hmph," was all she said for a moment, putting down the letter and moving to aggressively butter another scone.

"Well I don't know what that girl is thinking! I have tried to advise her, I really have, but it seems to make no difference. If she is not careful, she will end up at a wife-sale and then where will she be?" **(4)**

Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes and knew better than to react to her mother's histrionics.

"Well what do you think she has done girls? Only run the man's house into the ground not two months into her marriage. Apparently Missy didn't tell us the half of it in her letters- she has mismanaged the accounts, angered Lady Catherine and the servants run wild. She has even taken up a friendship with the maid- they were found trying on outfits in her room, giggling like girls in the nursery.

When Mrs. Bennet had calmed down, Elizabeth managed to read the letter and found that, though her mother's statements had been somewhat exaggerated (Kitty had not 'run the house into the ground', but was merely spending more than Mr. Collins would like and could not seem to grasp how to economise) the report was worrying none the less. There could be little doubt that the marriage was not proving to be a success thus far and, rightly or wrongly, Kitty was getting the blame for it.

The final paragraph brought a shock when she read Mr. Collins' request beseeching Mrs. Bennet to send Jane to Hunsford to 'provide Kitty with some of the education which has clearly been lacking until now', as he put it. How he knew that Jane possessed the necessary knowledge, she was not sure, but she conjectured that Jane's calm, capable demeanour and the assistance he had witnessed her provide to their mother had inspired his confidence in her. When she saw her daughter had reached this part of the letter, Mrs. Bennet addressed it.

"Of course there is no question of Jane going to Hunsford. What if Mr. Bingley were to return? Though, in truth, I had a thought to send you to London, Jane, since he seems to be entrenched there for the duration." This last was said with a peevish conviction that demonstrated that she may no longer be as confident of Bingley's return as she had always claimed to be.

"No, there is nothing in Hunsford, except the company of a dumpy parson and that widow. You had much better go, Lizzy. You are just as capable as Jane- in that area- and are not you the one who helped your father with the books? If that man was more sensible, he would have sent for you in the first place. Then again, he should have married you altogether and we wouldn't have this problem. And don't think I didn't notice you trying to put him off, Lizzy, with your wild opinions! You owe it to Kitty now to make things right." Elizabeth declined to mention that Kitty's being wholly unprepared, without even the most basic education necessary in a wife was rather more her mother's fault than her sister's.

"Yes, that is a capital idea, you will go to Hunsford and Jane will go to London- since I must have a sound reason now, anyway, to refuse your cousin her assistance."

Elizabeth was almost as displeased at Mrs. Bennet's plan for Jane as for herself. She had not mentioned Bingley since his removal and had thought that her mother's obsession with the man was waning until she had concocted this plan. The spark of animation on Jane's face on hearing the proposal was heart-breaking as she knew that the situation was hopeless. Even if she had not heard the words from Mr. Darcy's own mouth, Miss Bingley's snubbing both of Jane's letters was evidence enough that the whole party had decided to drop the Bennets' acquaintance and raising Jane's hopes would only prolong her suffering. As for her own trip to Hunsford, she certainly didn't relish the thought of it, but Elizabeth could put up with a few weeks of Mr. Collins' company to help Kitty and she was eager to judge the situation for herself.

* * *

 **(1)** A steward was responsible for the general running of an estate, whereas a bailiff was only responsible for its finances, acting as a go-between between the master and the labourers and tenants: 'The Jane Austen Handbook', Margaret C. Sullivan.

 **(2)** Morning in the Regency period comprised the whole of the day until dinner.

 **(3)** The 'Kanon', or Doryphoros was a sculpture by Greek sculptor Polykleitos demonstrating his treatise of the same name which illustrated the perfect proportions for the human body. Basically it's a sculpture of a hot naked man, though I have to say the haircut leaves something to be desired.

 **(4)** Wife sales were an odd custom and exactly what it says on the tin- the wife would be led by a halter to the nearest market and sold to the highest bidder. Though not strictly legal, the law often turned a blind eye. It was most prevalent among the lower classes, but was a rarity: 'Gender in English Society 1650- 1850', Robert B. Schumaker.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Mrs Bennet was decided in her plans and Elizabeth and Jane only awaited the replies of Mr. Collins and Mrs. Gardiner respectively to leave. Elizabeth continued to walk as a routine. She took various paths from Longbourn, including back to Oakham Mount, but was disappointed never to see Mr. Wickham out walking again. The gentleman had rather taken her fancy and it struck her while walking into Meryton (a trip she had begun taking with more frequency), that she was not so very different from the incorrigible Lydia, who was skipping along in front of her. It was her mission in life to meet an officer and it had taken all of her elder sisters' energies to ensure she returned home from such trips without exposing herself too radically by hallooing one of them in the street. Now Elizabeth was horrified to find that she was almost wishing her sister to succeed, if only so that she might have the opportunity to meet Mr. Wickham once more.

All of this was unknown to Lydia, and it was to her great astonishment that her first introduction to an officer came thanks to her proper older sister, when quite the most handsome man she had ever seen halted in the street in front of them. He gave Lizzy a look of recognition and delight so marked that it all but commanded her to stop. Elizabeth could not but introduce the gentleman to her sisters. He in turn introduced Mr. Denny at his side and Lydia's eyebrows levitated on her forehead to learn that she was in the presence of two of the most illustrious officers so gossiped about in the town. She soon descended into the most inappropriate familiarity, a sure sign that her head had been turned. The gentlemen bore it with good grace and kindly ignored her impropriety. Thankfully for their sakes, Lydia could only focus her charms on one of them at a time and, when he had a minute's peace from her, Mr. Wickham turned to Elizabeth. He stepped away from the group to create some privacy and very politely inquired as to her health, expressing his hope that she had not caught a cold after her soaking of a few days before. She was grateful that he did not expose her to the attention of the group during this conversation, and glad to have him as her accomplice in keeping the secret of their introduction. As the gentlemen escorted them to the edge of Meryton, his company at her side, hands clasped behind his back, brought Elizabeth more pleasure than she could reasonably explain and she began to appreciate the attraction of a red coat that her sisters had so often opined.

Their mother heard all about the officers as soon as she encountered Lydia in the vestibule and turned on Elizabeth immediately. Thankfully she had had time to water down her initial meeting with Wickham into something less scandalous than a rain-soaked encounter in the woods, but her mother was still enthralled. She had not bled Elizabeth dry of all the details until half way through dinner and continued to pronounce her, well into the evening, as being 'very sly indeed'.

Now that they had been introduced to two of the officers, there was no holding Mrs. Bennet and Lydia back; the dam had burst and it was all that Elizabeth and Jane could do to negotiate with their mother to maintain at least a semblance of mourning. So it was decided that they could make some morning visits and receive callers, but would not attend any evening events. This gave the pair just enough freedom that they could feel confident of manipulating the arrangement to suit themselves and they grudgingly agreed.

From this point on, Mrs. Phillips could usually be counted on to aid them in their schemes and there was almost always a party of officers present in her parlour when they paid their calls. So it was that Mr. Wickham became a regular companion of the family and Elizabeth had some opportunity to further her friendship with him. He was not as well-read as her father, nor had he his satirical wit, but he was the most amiable man she had ever met and seemed to value her quick-wittedness, which she found was almost as pleasing as if he had possessed that quality himself.

* * *

Unbeknown to the Bennets, Mr. Wickham had been just as eager to make their acquaintance as they were his. He had been intrigued by reports of a houseful of the most handsome women in the county, whose elusiveness had only added to their mystery and allure. The vision whom he had met in the woods had proven the truth of that.

Discreet enquiries had also led him to discover, much to his astonishment, that the Bennets, and Miss Elizabeth in particular, were known to Mr. Darcy, who he was glad to hear had recently left the town. Mr. Wickham's manner, which had always inspired confidence, had enabled him to unearth whispered claims at Netherfield of an attachment between the two. He could hardly believe it; he knew the man as few others did, and his offering for Elizabeth Bennet was out of the question, her situation being what it was. The only possible explanation could be a dalliance between the two, but such licentiousness was unfathomable in the honourable Mr. Darcy.

Luckily for those concerned, most others who heard the rumour were equally disbelieving: Darcy's cold demeanour, his first, derisory comments about Elizabeth and her disgust with him were widely known and, since it seemed so unlikely to any who had witnessed them in company together, the tale of a liaison did not spread far. Some who had heard it believed that it may have been misquoted and that Bingley and Jane were the lovers in question. Both Jane and Elizabeth were so well liked, however, and their characters fixed as both amiable and decorous in the minds of Meryton, that their good reputations were a bulwark against the irreparable damage such a report would do, were it widely disseminated and believed.

Wickham was not a disinterested or benevolent party, however, and did not automatically dismiss the idea, as unlikely as it may seem. He had lived in the world of speculation and allegation long enough to know that such unconfirmed reports and whispers were often valuable, the more so for involving seemingly upstanding personages. He was very glad indeed that he had met Miss Elizabeth Bennet and believed she would prove a most advantageous and interesting connection, whatever her relationship with Mr. Darcy.

He thought to investigate this relationship for himself at one of Mrs. Phillips' informal mornings and, when the rest of the group were distracted, Wickham asked Elizabeth whether she had met Mr. Darcy while he had been at Netherfield. Her confusion and discomfiture at his enquiry fuelled his suspicions.

"Well… yes. I mean, Jane and I did spend some time at Netherfield while he was there, but I would not say I was at all well acquainted with the man." She wondered how Mr. Wickham might know him, seeming to be so removed from him in both rank and natural inclination that a connection between the two seemed unlikely.

"You may be surprised to find out that I am intimately acquainted with Mr. Darcy and all of his family, for I grew up at his estate in Derbyshire as the son of his father's steward. All of my fondest memories in life are of my time there. You have never seen a more beautiful sight, Miss Bennet, than the sun setting over the hills surrounding Pemberley and the golden pond stretching out in front of the house. I wish you could see it some time."

Elizabeth could not from any of his conversation so far, divine his attitude towards Mr. Darcy and so would not risk more than the vaguest response.

Wickham continued, determined to get something out of her regarding Darcy. "The man himself is quite imposing, as well. But then you would know that, having met him. He came here with a friend of his, did he?"

"Yes, his friend Mr. Bingley took the lease on Netherfield last September. Mr. Darcy and several members of Mr. Bingley's family joined him there. They spent just over two months in the neighbourhood and attended various assemblies and evening parties, before the Scarlet Fever came. They were mostly confined to Netherfield after that and left the country before Christmas." Elizabeth felt herself beginning to ramble in her unease and forced herself into silence.

"I do not believe I have met Mr. Bingley. Is he an amiable man?" His enquiry was an innocent one, but on seeing her darkening countenance, Mr. Wickham congratulated himself on hitting on such a promising topic.

"Mr. Bingley is the consummate gentleman. His manners are engaging- quite the opposite of Mr. Darcy. He is young and flighty, however, and I do not believe he will return to the neighbourhood." She had not meant to speak derogatorily of Mr. Darcy, but could not help expressing her poor opinion of the man, albeit indirectly. As for Mr. Bingley, she could not wholeheartedly praise the man given his treatment of her sister, but what good would come of discussing the situation with Mr. Wickham?

"I understand that Mr. Darcy was not universally well-regarded in the neighbourhood. I am curious to know how he behaves among strangers." He was watching her closely, now and she was determined to display no more unseemly emotion in speaking of Mr. Darcy. She chose her words carefully.

"I would say that the neighbourhood, rather than having any explicit reason to dislike him, was insulted that he did not make the effort that he might have with the locals; especially when his manner is held in comparison with that of Mr. Bingley. He has done nothing to give particular offence, but neither has he exerted himself to show regard for those around him." She was of course excluding his unequivocal insult to herself, in this analysis.

"And how did you find him, Miss Bennet… personally?"

She paused for an answer, knowing that this hesitation itself, if overlong, would rouse suspicion.

"I could not presume to sketch his character after so short an acquaintance; he does not have his friend's warm disposition which might invite intimacy after only a few months' acquaintance, though he does seem to be a man of information and intelligence."

Elizabeth was pleased with her answer: it was not so positive as to be out of step with the opinions of Meryton- it was true- and yet did not reek of bitterness or disappointment. For these very reasons, Mr. Wickham was unsatisfied with their discourse and would not risk speaking any further on the matter at present. Her pensive mood for the remainder of his visit, however, convinced him that there was more to be learnt on the subject.

* * *

Mr. Collins' letter reluctantly accepting Elizabeth's presence at Hunsford was quickly followed by a very embarrassed one from Kitty, who attempted to downplay her problems, while at the same time begging for Elizabeth's company as soon as may be. Mrs. Gardiner's reply was a little more leisurely in coming, she being unaware of any need for haste, and eventually the date for departure was set. They would leave just before Easter and it was tentatively planned for Elizabeth to stay with Kitty for a month, with Jane residing in London, during that time. Elizabeth did consider speaking to Jane about Mr. Bingley's absence, as she had once vowed to do, to alert her to what she may expect in Town, or even to dissuade her from going. In the end, she could not think of how to introduce the topic in a way that would neither upset Jane, nor give rise to enquiries as to how Elizabeth knew that Mr. Bingley had given Jane up irrevocably.

On the eve their forthcoming departure, both Jane and Elizabeth spent a fair part of the day packing their things, moving through the house as they gathered their belongings. Elizabeth was passing her father's study in pursuit of her best pair of gloves when her mother, already inside, called for her and shut the door behind her. The image of her mother in the library was bizarre, and Mrs. Bennet did not seem very comfortable herself as she wrung her hands and struggled to express her thoughts.

"Lizzy, you are to go to Hunsford tomorrow," she finally began, "and I am not sure what exactly you will find there. Your cousin's account may be exaggerated, as you say, but we both know that Kitty is not the most resilient of characters and she is certainly not making a good impression there. I hope I do not need to explain to you how important it is for their marriage to succeed."

"No, Mama," Elizabeth started to say but was interrupted by her mother who would have her say first.

"That man is the only thing keeping us from sitting in the hedgerows with nothing but the clothes on our backs and, though he is married to your sister, he is not obligated to keep us here. Even if he does, it is within his power to make this a very unhappy home for us. It is imperative that you fix this, Lizzy. Kitty must obey her husband- and Lady Catherine, in this case. She must learn to be a parson's wife" Elizabeth wondered at her mother giving advice on matrimony so diametrically opposite to what her own demeanour in marriage had been, but her mother had not finished speaking.

"It is not really proper for me to say this to you, but you must keep in mind when you speak to Kitty that a very important part of a man's relationship with his wife is- and you will learn this when you marry- is what happens in the bedroom.' Mrs. Bennet paused, allowing the meaning of her words to sink in- as if her daughter wasn't painfully aware of her clumsy allusions.

Elizabeth was about ready to run from the room at this point, but her mother's earnestness prevented her from doing so. "If a man is happy- with that- he may be more forgiving of his wife. And of course there is the heir to consider. It is vital for all our sakes, that Kitty gives him that. I have written to her about it, but I can get no satisfaction from her on the subject."

"Here, take this." Her mother pressed a letter into her hand and kept a hold of her, clinging to her almost, as she said, "Give this to her and have her read it in your presence, then let her talk to you about it. You will not understand a word of it of course, but do your best, Lizzy. If you can pry the particulars from her, you may write to me and I will advise you." Elizabeth was speechless, but could not brush off her mother's concerns as she usually did. She did not know if her mother's plan for her to discuss this with Kitty was the wisest option, but she respected her concern for her family and the fact the she was at least attempting to improve the situation. Her father may have been the sharper of the couple by far, but he had never shown such active interest in protecting his family's interests and Elizabeth knew that this was not the time to follow his lax example. She would do her part, whatever that may entail, to smooth the waters of the Collins' marriage.

* * *

In view of their imminent departure, some visitors called to bid them fare well, Mr. Phillips having been persuaded to join his wife in inviting the officers to accompany them to Longbourn. They all had a very merry morning and it had been some time since the house had seen such gaiety. When tea was served, Mr. Wickham, who was in attendance, made sure to secure a seat near Elizabeth. He leaned in close and began speaking in his usual jovial manner.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Hunsford, Miss Bennet, though perhaps the company may not be all that is agreeable. I know well what is in store for you there. Though I have never been to Rosings Park, I remember Lady Catherine from her visits to Pemberley in my youth."

"One could hardly forget her," he mumbled into his tea cup before taking a sip. Elizabeth smiled widely at his remarks, as she almost always did in his company.

"Yes my cousin has described her ladyship in effusive detail and I am eager to meet her. I only hope she can live up to my expectations!"

The pair continued in this flippant manner until it was almost time for their visitors to take their leave. They were cosseted in the corner, their cosy behaviour dissuading all others from joining them, almost to the point of rudeness.

"Well think of us, won't you, while you are away," Wickham chided her good-naturedly. "You will both be very sorely missed." His eyes searched hers and Elizabeth did not think it was vain of her to believe that he might particularly miss her.

Her friendship with Mr. Wickham had always sat on a knife's edge, for he was everything that a young and lively woman would find tempting in a man and there was a tacit attraction between them that neither had the courage to address. Elizabeth sometimes thought of what could have happened if it had been Mr. Wickham staying at Netherfield instead of Mr. Darcy: if he had been the man to come upon her that day in the library. There would have been no awkwardness or detachment; it would be like a novel- all passion and desire.

And the conversation would most certainly have been more agreeable.

Mr. Darcy having been brought to mind, Elizabeth questioned Mr. Wickham about his similarity to his aunt. She was rather intrigued to hear more of him from a childhood acquaintance who would have such a unique perspective on the man and it was only her shyness and apprehension that prevented her from mentioning Mr. Darcy more often in their conversations.

"Physically, I would not say there is a great resemblance- she is his aunt on his mother's side and Darcy is the image of his father. She is a tall, large woman- big-boned. Her massive physique rather suits her overbearing personality; I'm sure your quick mind has caught on by now to the fact that I do not much like her! She was always horrid to me as a child- the son of the steward doesn't merit much consideration, you see." He was lost in thought for a moment before meeting her eye and forcing a weak smile.

"I am sorry to hear that. It must have been very difficult to constantly be made aware of your inferiority. And how does Mr. Darcy get on with his aunt? He cannot have been oblivious to her treatment of you."

"Indeed, he was not." He seemed to consider whether to continue, before, looking around to check that they were unobserved, he confessed in a lowered voice, "Truth be told, Miss Elizabeth, myself and Darcy are not the best of friends, which may surprise you given your knowledge of our childhoods spent together."

Elizabeth was not as surprised as he might have thought, and believed that she could guess the cause of their animosity. She was eager for him to continue, however, and urged him to do so.

"The simple truth of it is that, in temperament, Mr. Darcy is far more like his aunt than his father. Mr. Darcy senior was very good to me and sponsored me at school and later Cambridge. He arranged for a living in the church to be mine and did whatever he could to promote my happiness. His son couldn't bear to see it- a steward's son given such privilege. And his jealousy of my friendship with his father assisted his pride, I am sure. To make a long story short, Mr. Darcy passed away and his son refused to honour his father's wishes: the living was given elsewhere, when it came into his gift, and I was banished."

Elizabeth had expected some tale of pride and jealousy, but nothing as dastardly as this. She had known that Mr. Darcy was an unpleasant man, an arrogant man, even a cruel man, at times, but to disregard his father's wishes in such a way that seemed bordering on criminal, this would require more; she had never before thought him truly wicked. Then she reconsidered his opinions on Jane's relationship with Bingley: they were entirely consistent with his dismissal of the aspirations of a man of Wickham's background to better himself. She remembered that night in his bedroom, when he had called her a whore and a mercenary, and nearly brought her to tears with his hateful language. Yes, she could see it now: his behaviour towards Mr. Wickham was in absolute harmony with the man she had seen at Netherfield; she had just never wanted to admit such a thing.

* * *

Lydia was uncharacteristically upset at their departure, offering her well-wishes for Kitty and bidding them return quickly, but she was not so downcast that she neglected to demand they bring her presents, in between sniffles into her handkerchief. The girls travelled together to London, where Elizabeth stayed the night, before Mr. Gardiner conveyed her into Kent.

Their carriage arrived at the parsonage after travelling almost the whole length of Rosings park, its boundary on one side brimming with life, as the spring growth tumbled out onto the road. When they reached the parsonage, it was similarly encumbered, with vines climbing the walls and border plants flourishing in the spring sun. A sturdy church spire peeked over the courtyard wall. Both Mr. and Mrs. Collins were waiting to receive them and Kitty's grasping hug the moment she alighted from the carriage reminded Elizabeth of her sister's wretchedness. Mr. Collins was also clearly relieved to see them and eagerly led them on a tour of the house. It was all that Mr. Gardiner could do to extricate himself in time to drive home that afternoon **(1).** On his departure, Mr. Collins re-joined them in the parlour. Now that it was just the three of them, he began to make obscure references to 'Mrs' Collins' difficulties', to which his wife blushed scarlet, but it did not seem that that the sisters would have any time to themselves that evening to address the issue further. Instead Elizabeth enquired about their life in a general way, careful to skim over any evidence of discord or difficulty, which constrained the conversation considerably. Though Kitty was quiet, Mr. Collins filled any lull in the conversation in the best way he knew how- with profusions of gratitude to his patroness. So it was that Elizabeth went to bed that night- early, for Mr. Collins' company was trying- without feeling that she had had a chance to really talk to Kitty at all and hoping that they might have some time alone together the next day.

Alas, this was not to be, as when she rose, rather later than was usual for her, breakfast was being served in the dining room and Mr. Collins began immediately to outline his plans for the day, which included guiding Elizabeth on a tour of the gardens at Rosings Park. Though this was exactly the type of occupation that Elizabeth should have enjoyed, she did not anticipate the outing with any pleasure, as she felt sure that Mr. Collins' fixation on the minute and trifling could suck the beauty from the heavens themselves. As it was, her predictions proved correct and the formal gardens at Rosings where they spent most of their tour, though handsome in a rigid way, were not equal to Mr. Collins' profusions on every present plant variety and the number of gardeners and assortment of tools required to maintain them. Elizabeth could only hope that the Collinses would soon return to their usual routine at which time she could discreetly help Kitty and escape the omnipresence of her husband.

Though she had not yet had a chance to get the truth from Kitty herself, Elizabeth observed the household, gathering her own intelligence. That Kitty was not happy was obvious, she had never been strong-willed, but was a naturally cheerful girl, who, though prone to frequent bouts of ill-humour due to Lydia's small triumphs over her, would rally from these promptly. Now, though, she seemed to have been meekened. She had not once in Elizabeth's presence addressed her husband unbidden and his veiled criticisms hurt her visibly. She ceased all participation in the conversation at any mention by her husband of Lady Catherine, which was, unfortunately for all, a frequent occurrence.

Part of the problem in their marriage seemed to be that Mr. Collins was too much in his wife's business; for how could any woman stand to have a man hovering over her as she managed the house. She supposed that this may be due to Kitty's past blunders, but suspected that Mr. Collins' pompous nature and complacent self-righteousness were more to blame. This she could help with immediately. She began to discuss his duties and interests and quietly influenced him to attend to his other pursuits, confident that she would take over his role in monitoring the household. The result of this manoeuvring was that, shortly after, Mr. Collins returned to his usual routine of calling on parishioners and sermon writing, augmenting this with time in his garden.

So it was that it was some days into her visit before Elizabeth could sit down in the parlour with Kitty and discuss the situation. She attempted to broach the topic sensitively, but when she mentioned the issues outlined in Mr. Collins' letter, Kitty burst into tears and seemed to need to get her lachrymose confession off her chest. Elizabeth just listened and comforted, and wondered to herself how she would help.

Kitty's account was complementary to Mr. Collins', though she felt wounded by his description of the situation. She readily admitted that she had not the first clue how to manage the household accounts, and, following some gentle prodding from Elizabeth, confessed that she had made some unauthorised purchases with the grocery money, leaving her short when it came time to settle the accounts. This mismanagement at home had angered Lady Catherine, who took Kitty's failure as a personal insult. Elizabeth could not approve of frivolous spending, but neither was she pleased to find that the marriage articles had not stipulated a set pin money for her sister and that all but the most minor purchases outside of the usual household accounts were being approved by Mr. Collins. As for Lady Catherine's involvement in their affairs, though unsurprising in the character who had been described to her, it could not be helpful, and was clearly exacerbating the problems between the couple.

Another, more subtle, problem than the black and white of the account book, was Kitty's relationship with the servants. The two maids were challenging in different ways: Mrs Martin was a long-term employee at the parsonage, predating Mr. Collins, and her indomitable will had cowed Kitty, to the extent that she was afraid to contradict the woman; Mary, on the other hand, was of a similar age to Kitty and had been her sole consolation. Unfortunately this friendship was inappropriate and the maid had become too familiar with the mistress. Elizabeth had witnessed none of this, but she was sure that the maid had more sense than to exhibit such behaviour in front of Mr. Collins and would be even more cautious after the dressing down she had received when he had found the pair, Mary sitting on the mistress' bed in Kitty's best bonnet.

For now Elizabeth just listened and re-assured: she would wait to tackle the Lady Catherine dilemma until she had met the woman for herself. The problem with the maids would take more than one discussion to solve and today was not the day to start. The most straight-forward issue would be the accounts and that she would begin today. They resolved to take a walk and then open the account book on their return and see how the situation lay.

Their walk, unlike Mr. Collins' promenade in the shrubberies near the house, was an impulsive exploration of the grounds, and was all the more enjoyable for it. The woods were extensive and, if not wild, at least natural; their plant life was just erupting from its winter slumber and was at a stage where its lushness could be appreciated without overpowering. The forest paths were charming, crossing undulating hills and passing several outstanding views down on to the park. Elizabeth thought that had she accepted Mr. Collins' advances she would have found considerable solace in these woods, but she doubted that her sister had the same affinity for or derived the same comfort in nature that she did. Kitty would have to find another way to live with her decisions.

They were rambling down a gravel avenue, bordered by mature trees, both lost in their own thoughts, when two riders emerged from a side path obscured by the undergrowth and happened upon them from a short distance away. One of the gentlemen, sandy-haired and shorter than his companion, was unknown to Elizabeth. The other was the unmistakable, arresting form of Mr. Darcy.

As he was the highest in consequence and the man who was acquainted with all present, it was his place to introduce the other parties. He made no move to do so, however, and said not a word, but gestured to the tip of his hat, dipping his head slightly. He sat tall a moment on his horse and stared, his fingers twitching around the reins, unsettling his horse, before turning him about and, with a rather insensitive kick, urging his mount in the opposite direction. His companion, seeing the recognition on both sides, seemed astonished at his behaviour and shot an apologetic glance at the ladies, whom he could not properly address himself, before hurrying after his friend.

"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you," Kitty remarked, when the gentlemen were out of earshot. "Mr. Darcy has come to visit his aunt- she talked of nothing else for a month beforehand! The world is a very small place, is it not?"

Elizabeth was too astonished to attempt a reply.

* * *

 **(1)** I am being a bit optimistic in having Mr. Gardiner drive to Kent and home in one day. The journey of 21 miles each way would take about five hours, with time for resting and changing horses (every ten to twelve miles). The horses would then have to be changed again, or rested for at least two hours, before taking the five hour journey home again. It was not unknown, however, to travel 60 miles a day in a private coach.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Elizabeth was barely listening to her sister excoriate Mr. Darcy, following their fleeting encounter.

"Thank God I have been banished from Rosings these three weeks, so that I will not have to see him," Kitty remarked as they made their way home. Kitty had been all but barred, receiving no invitations to Rosings Park. Lady Catherine in her anger was punishing her in the most grievous way she could imagine- depriving her of her company. Kitty was delighted to be left alone by the woman, yet felt the sting of her exclusion keenly. Mr. Collins now made his morning calls to Rosings alone and returned home to disparage Kitty with renewed vigour after having endured and enjoyed Lady Catherine's condescension on the subject, so that Kitty did not really escape Lady Catherine, but received her strictures by proxy.

"That must be Mr. Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Kitty continued. "They came down this week to spend Easter with their aunt- she spoke of nothing else for a month beforehand." Kitty rolled her eyes as she spoke.

"I wonder if he will wear his regimentals to church. It has been ever so long since I have seen a man in regimentals," she sighed wistfully. Kitty, lost in her own fantasies, did not notice her sister's disquiet. Far from vexing her, her sister's relapse into her peurile folly would have warmed Elizabeth's heart, had her mind not been absorbed by another topic. That Mr. Darcy was here was unfortunate and unforeseen, and his appearance had thrown her into a panic: she feared exposure and its effect on all her family; she dreaded his attentions, but also his neglect.

By the time they arrived home, however, Elizabeth had regained her usual equability. As for his exposing her, the idea was absurd and irrational. He would gain nothing by doing so and would be most unwilling to have such gossip concerning himself spread around his aunt's residence. She was certain that as, as Kitty had said, she was unwelcome at Rosings, they may see him in passing or in church, but that would be all. She would certainly not have to spend any time with him, which was a very good thing. She had been surprised, not just by his being here, but by the flood of sentiment that she had experienced on seeing him, as if her emotions had been frozen by the winter chill, in his absence, and the spring thaw of his presence had reawakened everything- her resentment, her distress and that other, counterpoising feeling that she had been beginning to forget.

The next few days were uneventful and just as Elizabeth was becoming complacent in her dismissal of Mr. Darcy's proximity, her reassurance and that of Kitty were shattered by a note from Lady Catherine inviting them to call. In it she declared that she was curious to meet Mrs. Collins' sister, whom she had heard from reports was handsome and affable, and whose efforts with her sibling the Lady wished to acknowledge.

They went, of course, shepherded out the door by an agitated Mr. Collins. They were admitted to Lady Catherine's drawing room by a dark skinned footman in a grey wig, where they stood awkwardly in front of her throne. Her houseguests were nowhere to be seen, but her insipid daughter, Anne, was sheltered by the fire, neither expecting, nor expected to take any part in the conversation.

Lady Catherine observed Elizabeth intently and unhurriedly as Mr. Collins performed the introductions. She was determined not to show any weakness to this woman who she suspected to be quite a tyrant and stood in front of her for inspection, meeting her glare with a steady eye. Finally, Lady Catherine seemed to have made her judgement, for good or ill, and bade them take a seat.

Lady Catherine proceeded to inquisition Elizabeth, and was well pleased with herself for the knowledge she was able to impart to Elizabeth about her own situation- primarily gathered from Kitty, but also from her spies in Hunsford. She soon became bored with this game, however.

"And so you have come to address your sister's inadequacies, Miss Bennet," she digressed. "How do you fare so far?" Elizabeth was disgusted with Lady Catherine's asperity and would have loved to answer with as little respect as the enquiry demonstrated. For Kitty's sake, she would not.

"My sister is very young, but she is eager to learn and she and I have been reviewing the accounts at the parsonage. I believe she now has a better understanding of how to direct her household." She smiled at Kitty encouragingly.

"By that I hope you also mean how to manage the servants. I was appalled to hear about that business with the chambermaid- a very poor beginning, indeed. Well I'm glad that Mrs. Collins has some relation who knows what they're about. There is nothing more detrimental to the running of a household than insolent servants," she revealed sagaciously.

"But she is not so very young - old enough to have a better grasp of her household than she does. Why was she not taught this at home? That is what I would like to know. And what sort of home is it that she has come from, if this is the product of it?" She seemed to have forgotten that Kitty was even in the room. "If I ever meet your mother, Miss Bennet, I intend to take her to task on the subject!" Lady Catherine paused in her speech to peer about her petulantly, as if expecting one of her guests to account for Mrs. Bennet's indolence.

Elizabeth did not feel that she could justifiably defend her mother's education of Kitty, which was clearly lacking, but she could not permit Her Ladyship to malign her mother's skills as wife or hostess. "I assure you, Lady Catherine, that my mother is a most able mistress to Longbourn and our home is comfortable and well-managed. I believe I heard Mr. Collins several times, while staying with us, pass on your remarks of approval in response to his description of our household. And any wifely duties I have learned, which now prove useful to my sister, have come from my mother's example."

Lady Catherine expressed her astonishment at the vehemence of her guest's reply, but did not make any further response. Elizabeth suspected that Her Ladyship had not often been confronted in such a way and did not quite know what to do with her. She was not displeased, exactly, at Miss Bennet's show of defiance and was not sure whether she thought better or worse of the girl for her speech.

In a warmer tone, Lady Catherine continued, "I hear from Mrs. Fortescue that you brought your sister to the butcher and advised her on her purchases. I cannot tell you how often I have lectured her on the proper cut of meat for a lady of her station. I did hear, however, that you came away with a neck of mutton. I must say, I was surprised. You should stick to scrag end from now on, for a stew. Mrs. Collins must learn to adopt more parsimonious methods, as befits a parson's wife." Elizabeth, watching her fingers curl around the gilded arms of her chair, doubted Lady Catherine's authority on financial prudence. She nonetheless took Her Ladyship's lukewarm commendation of her purchases as a seal of approval and was pleased on Kitty's behalf.

Lady Catherine was finished with this line of conversation and, without allowing Elizabeth to justify her choice at the butcher's shop, or perhaps determined to prevent the same, turned without warning to Mr. Collins and said "Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a rather pretty little thing, and she seems quite capable. She is also older than her sister, I believe." She waited for Mr. Collins' anxious nod of confirmation before continuing. "All of which begs the question as to why you did not marry her." The entire room was astounded- even Anne stared over at her mother in rapt disbelief. Mr. Collins was almost purple and spluttered like a landed fish- unable, for once, to respond- but Lady Catherine was oblivious to it all.

"Nevertheless… I am relieved that you have come, Miss Bennet, and I pray you will be successful in your endeavour. She is, contrary to your earlier claim, rather old to be attempting to amend her character, but we shall see what can be made of her. As I said to Mrs. Harvey, only yesterday…"

Elizabeth would never know what Lady Catherine had said to Mrs. Harvey yesterday, as she was interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman, whom the sisters soon recognised to be he whom they had glimpsed riding with Mr. Darcy two days before. His ruddy complexion and the glowing appearance of his freshly-washed face attested to his good health and humour.

"My, but it is a glorious day outside, aunt. Oh, I beg your pardon; I did not realise you had company." He halted both his speech and his advancement into the room on seeing the Collinses. He briefly glanced at each and nodded, but his warm gaze finally came to rest on Elizabeth.

"Ah, there you are, Fitzwilliam. Where is Darcy? Is he not with you?"

"I believe he is speaking to your steward on some matter of small importance. He should be here shortly."

"Ah, Darcy. Such a nephew: so attentive. Although one could argue that he takes a more… personal interest in our affairs, here at Rosings Park," Lady Catherine confided to the whole room. Her features radiated the secure satisfaction of a woman certain that her plans would soon come to fruition. Elizabeth was somewhat puzzled by this remark, but could not ponder it overlong, as Lady Catherine had finally come to make the introductions. Though degrading to the Collins party and embarrassing to any who could claim a relation to Her Ladyship, Colonel Fitzwilliam was quite pleased on their completion. He had presumed that one of the ladies was married to Mr. Collins, and his pleasure on finding that it was not Miss Elizabeth was visible.

Soon Lady Catherine began to miss her favourite guest and wonder aloud at what could be keeping him from her presence. She expressed a wish to introduce Mr. Darcy to the Collinses and was quite put out to find that she was not required in that office, due to their previous acquaintance. She then consoled herself by demanding praise for the dignity and eminence of her nephew, which Mr. Collins was happy to supply. Thankfully his commendations ran long enough that Elizabeth was not required to expand on them with her own tribute, but short enough that they were concluded before the subject of them joined the party in the drawing room.

Darcy entered brusquely, briefly apologised for his tardiness and bowed to the guests, stiff as a poker and ramrod straight. He met the eye of no-one in particular and took an available seat near the Colonel, who, for his own part, was determined to have some conversation with Mrs. Collins' pretty sister. He politely addressed Mrs. Collins, however, who was seated closer to him.

"And how do you find your new home at the parsonage, Mrs. Collins? I confess I have never been inside, but it does make a charming prospect when driving past."

Kitty was so unused to being addressed with any civility in this house that she was momentarily flustered at the polite enquiry, particularly from such a gallant gentleman of the armed forces. Her answer, therefore, did not do any service to her intelligence and Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed bemused and diverted by her ramblings, but struggled dutifully to supress his reaction. Elizabeth did not dare look at Darcy, though she thought she heard a huff of disapproval at her foolish sister.

Little did the Colonel know what a pandora's box he had opened in mentioning the parsonage, and Mr. Collins, seeing an opportunity to give flight to all the devotion he bore, and to speak on the subject most dear to his heart, took over from his wife and continued to speak on the topic for a full five minutes, hardly pausing for breath. He outlined in such exhaustive detail as could only be found in its architectural blueprints, the dimension of his home and every alteration his patroness had ever made to it. This soon extended into a general panegyric on the many benevolences of Lady Catherine De Bourgh. He did not need more than a nod of the head by any member of the party for encouragement to continue and worked himself up into such an agitation of gratitude and adulation, that Elizabeth did not know how he stayed on his chair with all his bowing and stooping. He seemingly endeavoured to impress on his patroness, by his very warped posture, the servility which, Elizabeth was sure, made up at least fifty percent of his person. Eventually even Lady Catherine grew weary of his fawning and silenced him.

Elizabeth was mortified by the display that her family had produced in their first meeting with Mr. Darcy. His earlier words on her family taunted her and she could remember him describing, "the lack of propriety almost universally displayed by your family." He said not a word now, but she saw him cringing as he once described doing; most pronouncedly when Mr. Collins turned, as he occasionally did, to direct his remarks to Mr. Darcy himself. Even as she stepped in to try and distract the company and began to speak, Elizabeth knew not what she was saying. She fell to praising the Park and hoped she did not too closely resemble her cousin in doing so. The Colonel, seeing her plan and keen to relieve her distress, chimed in. He described some of the best views to be seen in that part of the country and advised her on where she might venture on her next walk. An instant camaraderie was formed through their conspiring and what was begun as an awkward diversion, soon developed into a entertaining conversation between the pair on, among other things, the relative merits of riding and walking as a form of exercise, which in turn led to a debate on the benefits of life in the country over that in Town. This tête-à-tête was peppered with frequent disconnected interruptions from Lady Catherine, parroted by her loyal sycophant.

Mr. Darcy who had hardly looked in her direction, even initially, as she had begun speaking to the whole group, was, despite himself, also becoming silently involved in their repartee. His attention was caught when Miss Bennet began to tease his cousin about the adversities that the life of an Earl's second son must involve. He maintained the illusion of attending to his rather one-sided conversation with his aunt, but frequently glanced sideways at the floor just in front of the two sisters' seat. Elizabeth was not fooled and knew that he was listening closely. She was uncomfortable, but his silence allowed her to dismiss him and she learned to pretend that she was not affected. The Colonel's conversation was diverting, though, and Elizabeth soon became earnestly interested in getting better acquainted with the man. His manner reminded her somewhat of Mr. Bingley in its open easiness, but Mr. Bingley was a boy- eager for approval, full of energy, and ultimately, it had turned out, inconstant- whereas Colonel Fitzwilliam was a man- steady and assured. Elizabeth soon discovered that he was a worthy conversationalist, charming and urbane, and she began to enjoy her visit to Rosings, just a little.

For his part, Darcy was in agony. Her visit, since its announcement by Lady Catherine at breakfast had been the Sword of Damocles hanging over him. He had delayed and dawdled as long as possible, but even he had not realised the danger he was in of putting himself under her power again, when he finally met her once more. He had tried his best to remain detached, and certainly would not engage her in conversation, but her sweet impertinence, that balance of integrity and wit, was displayed to best advantage in such arguments as she was now having with Colonel Fitzwilliam. That was the salt in the wound: he had been her partner in such debates; her sparring words and quick retorts had been her means of showing to him that regard, which neither could openly admit and which he could no longer entertain. Now she directed them towards another.

Lady Catherine did not long leave the genial pair to their fun, however, and recaptured their attention with a loud enquiry of the Colonel on the recent change to his uniform. The group continued under this tedious autocracy until the time came for the visitors' polite removal. Kitty, with minimal prodding from Elizabeth, performed her duty and took leave of their hostess, who was eager to regain the complete attention of her nephews. Both Bennet sisters were happy to go, for their own reasons. Darcy was relieved, but could not say he was happy. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Collins were the only two in the room who were truly sorry for the party to break up and Anne glanced impatiently at the clock, wondering when her mother would allow her to retire.

* * *

Mr. Collins was in an ebullient mood as they walked back to the parsonage: a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was not a naturally combative man and his admonition of Kitty, and their constantly being at odds had been unpleasant for him. Lady Catherine's re-admittance of Kitty into her society had done much to ease his distress and, though she was by no means forgiven, he felt confident that, with Elizabeth at her side, his wife could right her mistakes and rehabilitate herself in Her Ladyship's eyes. Now Elizabeth saw, by his clasping of his wife's arm against his own and his frequent mooning gazes, the re-emergence of Collins the Lover, if such a creature could be believed to exist. She felt that perhaps her mother's letter might be needed after all, and sooner rather than later. Mr. Collins' conduct towards Elizabeth on this journey was comical. After seeing Her Ladyship's approval of her, the walk home was not long enough for him to express his concomitant approbation with enough simpering civility to satisfy his sense of justice and gratitude, and she began to wish that Her Ladyship had been displeased with her, if only that she may have some peace from the man.

* * *

Elizabeth walked out alone early the next morning. She knew that she would have a trying day and needed to gather her strength as it was now past time for her to speak to Kitty about their mother's letter. She knew from the dull knock and muted whispers that she had heard some after retiring to bed that Mr. Collins had requested, but been denied, admittance to her sister's chamber that night. Elizabeth would now have to convince Kitty to take her husband into her bed- what a dreadful proposition!

She trudged home in time for church, her heavy steps betraying her mood and the thick mud complementing it. The whole Rosings party were present in the De Bourgh pew, even Anne, as it was Easter Sunday. Afterwards, Colonel Fitzwilliam was eager to continue his easy banter with Elizabeth, but she was less so, under the resolute, but distant glower of Mr. Darcy and was glad to see the back of them all.

She was surprised to see the Colonel again when he called to the parsonage later that day, but supposed that the company must be very tiresome at Rosings, considering its inhabitants. Kitty was particularly impatient to make up for her humiliation of the day before and the Colonel was only too happy to oblige her with a few stories of his campaigning in France. He recommended himself to all and left the ladies in a far better mood than he found them.

In a private moment, when their visitors had left and while Mr. Collins visited a parishioner, Elizabeth saw her opportunity and introduced the delicate matter that had been on her mind. "Kitty, I think I should tell you that Mama sent me here, not just to help with the management of the household, but also to ensure that you and Mr. Collins are happy in your marriage… in other ways." This was a bit of a stretch of the truth, her mother's directions being more concerned with Mr. Collins' satisfaction than Kitty's; her advice to her being more in the line of 'Lie back and submit', but Elizabeth did not think that it would be helpful to dwell on that. Her sister's bowed head was all the response she needed and she felt warranted in introducing their mother's letter.

She handed it to Kitty, who after only a few seconds blanched, her eyes wide in shock, or horror, Elizabeth could not tell. She placed the letter down on her knees with her eyes pressed shut, before silently handing it to Elizabeth. She could hardly dare to read it, but knew she must. It turned out to be a very odd, disturbing missive, obviously written in much haste and perturbation. It began with a paragraph of the standard reproaches Mrs. Bennet was now wont to spout every time Kitty's name was mentioned. She then went on to list her orders, her prescription for a successful coupling, which included such sage words as "You will never get with child if you do not satisfy your husband" and "You are not the first girl who has had to lie with an unappealing man," before progressing to the plain ridiculous, such as "You should not wash it, for men love the smell!" It then descended into various anecdotes of her experiences with their father, which were both nauseating and startlingly comprehensive. There was even one nebulous account, which, from what details of the attending gentleman were divulged, she was sure could not have involved Mr. Bennet and must have (she hoped) predated their marriage. Elizabeth knew not where to start analysing such a message, and the letter understandably gave Kitty no comfort, so she decided to leave her mother's words aside for the moment and attempt to draw her sister out on her own experiences. She discovered that it took very little prodding to do so and the urge to tell such tales was obviously a common propensity in married women, for in Kitty's stories, and the need to unburden herself of them, she shared unfortunate similarities with her mother.

"Oh that first night I was ever so scared. And then he took it out and it was this ugly little thing, like a fleshy mushroom." Kitty then launched into the story of her lost maidenhood with unrelenting detail. Her story, though distressing in its vision of a stumbling and insensitive husband could not be uncommon, Elizabeth thought. Kitty's former coyness now was thrown from her like a stifling cape, and once she had begun talking she could not stop. A stifled giggle would frequently escape her or her eyes would go wide at the remembrance of a particularly salacious memory. She did not seem sensible to the fact that her sister had not gone through the same experiences and so could not relate to most of it. Reverting to her status as the younger, and therefore less experienced, sister that she had always been, she entreated Elizabeth for her help. Elizabeth listened for similarities in her sister's stories with her own assignations, though she knew of course that there was much more to the marital bed than she had ever undergone. She was baffled, however, to find that the delicate touches, the exquisite tension and ultimate release were nowhere mentioned (except for the face Kitty had so kindly imitated, and which Mr. Collins apparently pulled when finally satisfied). Their encounters seemed to be dry affairs- literally and figuratively- and Kitty, as far as she could tell, had derived no pleasure from them. They were generally completed, from his knock on her door to her husband's meek removal, within ten minutes. These visits had stopped altogether with their recent strained relations.

"But things do seem to be improving now, do they not? You now have a far better grasp of the household duties, you have distanced yourself from the servants and Mr. Collins seems to be willing to leave this quarel behind you."

Kitty reluctantly replied that he was and further saw that putting her husband off indefinitely would not solve her problem. Elizabeth asked her to start by giving her husband more of her attention when they met during the day (If she became better acquainted with him, it might make their evening reunions less awkward) but left it at that and decided she needed to think on the subject before offering any more material advice.

During her few days at Hunsford, Elizabeth had been more than pleased with Kitty's willingness to learn and adapt, under her tutelage, and so should not have been as surprised as she was to find that Kitty took her words to heart. She had always been an impressionable girl and, without Lydia, she now relied on Elizabeth's guidance unreservedly. When Mr. Collins returned home, he was taken aback by his wife's enthusiasm for Mr. Liston's leg ulcer, as he regaled them with his anecdote over dinner.

Kitty's consideration towards her husband lasted into the evening, though the strength of Mr. Collins' response shook her resolve almost to breaking point. He did not desist in his attentions, but seemed to get more excited as the evening wore on, until he could contain himself no longer and began to suggest to Elizabeth that she looked very tired and that she should not to let _'Catherine and myself'_ keep her up. Kitty's pleading eyes led her to demur retiring early for a time, but eventually even Elizabeth's iron will could not disregard Mr. Collins' allusions and she left Kitty to her fate. Judging by the bumps and muffled whispers that she heard down the corridor not long afterwards, Kitty had followed her advice to the letter.

* * *

The next morning, an early walk allowed Elizabeth to avoid the happy couple and she felt restored to her natural vitality as she wandered. Sprinting down hills was her secret pleasure and she noticed a promising field to which she now moved. She launched herself from the top, her speed increasing until she could barely stay on her feet and thought she could trip and tumble down the hill at any moment. That feeling of her stomach in her mouth, her blood pumping from the recognition of her peril, was what she sought. She even closed her eyes and felt the breeze in her hair, bearing her cares away with it, her mind focused on nothing but her wild descent. She sensed the terrain levelling off and gradually came to a halt. Her eyes were still closed as she basked in the lingering flutterings of exhilaration. She stood this way- eyes closed, grinning- until the outside world began to intrude. The _'kokokok'_ of a pheasant was the sound that roused her and she slowly opened her eyes.

Presently, there was a disturbance to her right- the rustle of branches cast aside and the contented sounds of a horse well-used. Even Mr. Darcy's appearance on his spindly gelding could not dampen her mood, and her subsequent greeting was more cordial than her animus towards him could warrant. She did not know how long he had been there, whether he had seen her capering and what he now thought if he had. She did not concern herself with it, as she was convinced that he would promptly take himself and his disapproval off in some other direction and leave her to her bliss once more. He dismounted, however, and seemed resolved on joining her walk. She was perplexed, and annoyed at herself for encouraging this familiarity with her affable greeting, but had no choice other than to accept his proffered arm. He steered them, without discussion, in the direction of the imposing treeline.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Darcy had found himself there, in the bushes, in spite of his best efforts. Since her conversation with Fitzwilliam, her eyes lambent with enthusiasm, he would catch himself steering towards the parts of the forest he knew she would now seek out, the areas she had discussed with _Fitzwilliam_. Yesterday he had resisted, driving his horse hard, he cared not where, as long as she was not there, and had arrived home damp and tired, yet tense all the same. Today he had cracked. He had lied to himself- he only needed to see her, he had convinced himself; he might find her and leave undetected, if he was careful. This had led to him standing sentinel in the shrubbery watching her crest the top of a hill and wait. His curiosity was piqued when she leaned forward and seemed about to tip over, before throwing herself down the hill, skirts flying, arms extended as she hurtled to the bottom. She stopped not thirty feet from him. He observed her heaving chest and reddened lips, but it was her little ear- a robust pink- that fascinated him. _She is a Goddess!_ And her innocent smile drew him in.

* * *

Under the pretence of picking a flower, Elizabeth dropped Mr. Darcy's arm almost as soon as they reached the cover of the trees. She rolled the stem of the ephemeral white thimbleweed between her fingers. It was perfectly formed, dew droplets clinging to it petals, and she examined it closely to evade Mr. Darcy's company. She could not do so for long and returned to walk at his side, though at enough distance that she would not be obliged to take his arm. She knew not why he felt the need to walk with her, some distorted sense of pride, she supposed, born of a similar conceit that produced Lady Catherine's high-handed attentiveness. She was appalled by his proximity. He did not physically touch her, now, as he strolled with hands by his sides, occasionally scuffing the ground with his cane, but she felt he emitted a commanding aura that besieged her own and could not be shrugged off. She endeavoured to spare them both any future occurrence of this misfortune and took care to inform him of her favourite haunts, that he might avoid them.

They descended into silence and, at the next fork in the path, she took the route towards home, which she knew would lead her there within a quarter of an hour. He seemed to recognise this also, as he was roused to make some weak attempts at conversation, before they parted. These attempts did not take, as she was determined not to encourage him in his efforts.

"What think you of books?" he finally tried.

"Books?! Who can think of books when faced with so much beauty?" She waved her hand around at the moss covered vegetation. "No Mr. Darcy I cannot turn my mind to such staid subjects when out of doors. Moreover, I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."

"I am sorry you think so, though given your preferences in poetry, it can hardly come as a surprise; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."

"As I say, I cannot think of books at this moment. When in nature, I wish to appreciate nature and I find I can do so more fully in silence." She had almost said solitude, but restrained herself. Still she knew she was being ill-mannered. Mr. Darcy did not seem put out, however, as he had now been given license to return to his natural reticence. Had she been crueller she would have allowed him to continue on with his limp non-sequiturs, but as it was she had relieved him of observing the civilities and lightened his mood, in the belief of their common inclination. He did not trouble her with conversation again, except to remark that she could not have the opportunity for such extensive rambling in Hertfordshire where she was without the benefit of a large estate.

As they neared the parsonage, she asked if he would come in and visit Mrs. Collins, though it was really too early for polite callers. He demurred and came to a stop, causing her to do so. After an awkward pause, during which he made no overtures to depart, she took her leave instead, hoping never to repeat the experience.

Imagine her astonishment then, when she came across Mr. Darcy again the next day and when she was only a short distance from the house. She could not sensibly turn back, and so she suffered him to accompany her on the whole of her walk. He was again bent on stilted conversation and, of all possible subjects, he raised their time in Hertfordshire. He spent their ramble making disconnected observations about Netherfield and the time they spent there, all the time skirting the imperative topic. He enjoyed the blushes this discussion and its obvious omission elicited in her, but when she did not volunteer anything more than the most diffident of responses, he promptly dropped the subject entirely.

* * *

Colonel Fitzwilliam came often to the parsonage at this time. His presence offered a welcome variety to their number, his society was engaging, and his obvious pleasure in their company recommended him still more. His cousin did not habitually accompany him, though the Colonel always had a ready excuse for his absence. Today, however, he was there, re-dressed since his walk with Elizabeth in a finely cut coat. He said very little, and then only when necessary for civility's sake. He did not seem to enjoy their society and he only added to theirs by the Colonel's laughing at his stupidity.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he did most days, sat near Elizabeth so that they may have some conversation during the visit. He had noticed his cousin's glowering attention to their discussion and leaning into Elizabeth's side said, "Are you not intimidated by my cousin's fearsome countenance, Miss Bennet."

"Well I am not in the least tempted to talk to him, which I believe the purpose of said grimace, and as such it is quite effective."

"Yes, I am afraid my cousin says hardly a word when he comes into Kent, though he is lively enough in other places."

Elizabeth was surprised at this description of the man, but thought better than to mention this. "Well, to be reserved is not necessarily a cause for censure, after all did Plato not say, 'Wise men talk because they have something to say; Fools, because they have to say something,' " she countered. Darcy, while harassed by Mr. Collins' attentions, had managed to catch some of their conversation and this last remark in particular, and felt excessively pleased with himself, fighting to present a phlegmatic front.

"Your cousin could uphold his introversion, without trying to offend the rest of us, though." They had lowered their voices to prevent the object of their discussion from hearing, but the Colonel's similarly intimate and amused response, while unheard by Mr. Darcy, ruined his good mood. By the end of their call, Kitty was not the only person dissatisfied with the exclusiveness of Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam's conversation.

* * *

Kitty, however, was dealing with troubles of her own. She had allowed Mr. Collins to enter her chamber twice since her talk with Elizabeth and, while he seemed content enough, she still did not look forward to his visits with pleasure, or even forbearance. When they reconvened to discuss the subject again, Elizabeth, in as chaste and demure language as she could muster, suggested that perhaps it was the speed of the encounters that was the problem. She diffidently suggested that they slow down and do other things.

"But what else is there to do?" Kitty pouted. Elizabeth pitied herself terribly for the situation she found herself in, but was very deliberate in her answer: she was now on very dangerous ground: she would have to advise her sister, while convincing Kitty that she was more innocent that she truly was.

"Does Mr. Collins ever…kiss you?" She affected timidity, all the while feeling secure in her experience and the authority it gave her on the matter. That is until a lightning bolt hit her square in the stomach: she had never been kissed. For all her exploits at Netherfield, she did not know what it felt like to have a man place his lips to hers, lick her flesh, or suck on her bottom lip. She was suddenly aware of the conceited self-assurance with which she had treated Kitty's ordeal and upbraided herself for the arrogance in herself that she had so recently criticised in others.

Elizabeth then endeavoured to give her advice in terms more respectful of her sister's intelligence and with less artifice than she would have previously. When Kitty admitted that, though Mr. Collins had kissed her, it had been brief and infrequent, she suggested, "Perhaps that is a place to start. If you want your situation to change, you will have to take responsibility for altering it- and in Mr. Collins' defence, he cannot be expected to know that you are dissatisfied, if you will not tell him so. Only be careful, Kitty. If I may speak freely… though your husband is not malicious, he is somewhat delicate in his opinion of himself- his pride- and you must be patient and kind, or he is likely to reject your amendments. If you are sympathetic, however, I do not think he will be unwilling. You never know- he may be as eager to explore the possibilities as you are!"

"I am nervous." Kitty's small voice nearly broke her sister's heart.

"I know, Kitty. But consider, you are in a better situation than many young ladies: you have a comfortable home with a man who is honest and decent. I have seen Mr. Collins' attentions towards you in these last few days and I believe that you can have happiness, of a sort, with him, if you are willing to work for it. I will not lie to you. Judging by your respective characters, I believe that you will have to be the one to modify your demeanour the most and work the hardest for marital harmony. But then, so it is with all married women: being a woman is a terribly difficult occupation since it consists principally of dealings with men. And that is why I shall end an old maid!"

She did not offer to teach Kitty's ten children to embroider and play their instruments very ill, as she once had Jane; not because she did not believe Kitty capable of bearing such a brood- indeed, if they kept up their current pace she conjectured her sister would be increasing before Elizabeth left the parsonage- but because she did not think she could tolerate constant residence in the same house as their father. The ensuing question of where exactly she would live out her approaching spinsterhood if not at Longbourn with the Collinses was filed away as one for another day.

Kitty did not attempt to match her sister's witticisms on marriage and departed deep in contemplation. She had been left with food for thought and Elizabeth was left with a dim vision of the future and an unsettled stomach.

Mr. Collins' performance that night- for perform he valiantly did- varied in several respects, from what Elizabeth could hear, from his previous forays into the realm of seduction. He knocked on Kitty's door as always, but the arrhythmic creak of the bed did not immediately follow. The muffled voices she heard were gentle and caressing and even urgent at times. The other noises, when they did begin, included the grunts and groans whose origin could not be mistaken. Most, unfortunately, originated from Mr. Collins, but somewhere in the middle, a higher wispy moan could be discerned and Elizabeth smiled into her pillow.

* * *

Elizabeth suspected that Mr. Collins had not returned to his own room that night and she tiptoed past the door the next morning, fearful of what she may witness. On exiting the parsonage, she intentionally took a different route than she ever had before, walking the road bordering the park for a time before re-entering the woods over a low wall. Yet still she came upon him, or he came upon her, she was not sure which. She began to think that this was some voluntary penance for Mr. Darcy; she could explain it in no other way. Surely he could derive no more pleasure than her from these uncomfortable meetings. He began eventually to speak about Colonel Fitzwilliam, frequently returning to the topic of the Colonel, his family and situation in life. His single-mindedness on this topic puzzled her; she briefly considered that he had in his thoughts a match between herself and the Colonel. She coloured at the idea and the more she thought of it, the more agitated she felt. What must he be thinking? Would he interfere; speak to the Colonel; warn him of her unsuitability?

Her uncertainty lasted until he abruptly stopped, turned to her and pronounced, "Miss Elizabeth, I feel that it is my duty to warn you that I have observed your behaviour with Colonel Fitzwilliam and I must tell you that you are placing yourself in a vulnerable position. Do not alarm yourself," he assured when her eyes widened. "The Colonel is an honourable man, and you need have no fear of him, but you should not comport yourself towards any man, as you have towards him. The danger of which I speak is that to your reputation, as well as your safety, should you behave generally, in the manner that is your wont. You have lived in a sheltered community all your life, but, with more worldly men, your naturally sociable, unguarded nature may be misconstrued and lead you into a perilous situation."

Yet again Mr. Darcy had found his talent for rendering her speechless. She had believed that the Colonel admired her, but had never aspired to any serious attention from the man. Nor did his conduct- agreeable, but not insinuating- lead to her to believe it was a possibility. She conveyed as much to Mr. Darcy, mortified and disturbed to have to explain her expectations to him.

"As for any other behaviour to which I may be exposed, it is not your place, Mr. Darcy, to express such concern. You do not share a relationship with me that might make such direction by you acceptable, and given the history of our acquaintance, and your eagerness to put an end to it last December, you have no place in giving me guidance on such an issue." Begrudgingly she concluded, through gritted teeth, "I thank you, of course, for your concern, but I have done nothing that I am ashamed of. Your warning is not necessary, sir and I would beg you not to raise the subject again."

Her ensuing silence was defiant and forbidding. She felt that she had riposted his argument well and was proud that she had stood up to this man- who probably believed she should be grateful for such attentiveness- even having hinted at his hypocrisy. She could not be satisfied, however, as Mr. Darcy's assured smirk in reply haunted her vision, long after she had turned away in disgust.

When he again accompanied the Colonel to the parsonage that day, she hated that his speech- and sharp observation- affected her, though she knew him to be mistaken in his views. The Colonel, she was sure, also felt the change in her demeanour and his discomfort made her feel more dreadful still. Darcy was as pre-occupied by their disagreement as she was, though more pleasantly so. He was delighted by her fire. But underneath her rancour, he thought he sensed her wistfulness for the intimacy now lost between them and her eagerness for its return.

* * *

After the pair had left and Mr. Collins had gone about his duties, Kitty called Elizabeth into her parlour and could hardly wait until she had closed the door before launching into her story of the night before. As Elizabeth suspected, she had taken charge and not allowed Mr. Collins to rush through the act, though he begged her to allow it. Kitty described reaching a pinnacle that her sister recognised, but her shy confession that she had closed her eyes and thought of the Colonel was more than Elizabeth had needed to know. Mr. Collins had then fallen asleep in Kitty's bed and woken her that morning in a very surprising way: one on which she, thankfully, did not elaborate. Altogether, her tale was an amalgam of the hopeful and disturbing, but Kitty's own insight gave Elizabeth some small optimism for her sister's fortitude.

"I was lying there this morning, and I realised that I had been a fool to resist this. I think it will come to be one of the better aspects of my marriage- one that I can enjoy, even when Mr. Collins and I do not share an affinity in other ways."

Elizabeth was saddened and heartened by her determination to muddle through.

"And this literal closeness may lead to more ease and intimacy between you," she suggested on a happier note.

Kitty could not leave the topic of her revelatory night alone quite yet. "It really was so surprising. And I feel as if… it is as if I am still feeling the effects of it." Elizabeth recognised the physical bliss in Kitty that she had once enjoyed and she left her to it.

* * *

Darcy and Elizabeth's meeting the next Saturday seemed more obviously deliberate on his part than ever before: he was waiting for her just out of view of the parsonage. By this time her resentment at his presence had been worn down into resignation. She had developed a strategy for dealing with him: she would tolerate his presence, allowing him to talk when he wished and be silent when he wished; she did not put herself to the trouble of talking or of listening much and retreated into her own thoughts as often as possible. Today, however, the routine they had created had been disturbed, beginning with his waiting so close to the parsonage, and continuing with his demeanour once she arrived. She could feel an energy emanating from him, not excessive movement or agitation, just a quiet potential and conviction: anticipation. He asked her immediately whether she had any particular plans for her walk today. In the spirit of nonchalance with which she treated all their meetings she said that she did not.

"I am glad; for there is something I would show you." At this, he turned and began to walk away, apparently in the direction of his object, without seeking approval or acquiescence and she was left to follow him. When he saw that she was following, he slowed, allowing her to catch up and commented, "It is quite a walk from here, but I know that that will not present any difficulties for you."

They continued at a brisk pace passing some of the spots that they had visited in their past outings. Darcy was sure to explain their position, or any interesting features in the landscape that they came across, but he did not speak otherwise, too affected to feign easiness. When he came to steer them down a track that Elizabeth had never seen before, he informed her that they were on the very edge of the Rosings estate. Their path wound through the forest and became narrower and more neglected as they progressed until they were walking single file; Darcy in front, occasionally having to beat away an intruding branch. At length, the track broadened, until she could come up beside him and look out from an opening in the edge of the trees onto a small and neglected road. On the other side, stood a large field, which had obviously, until fairly recently, grazed livestock. The grass was long, but the forest had not yet reclaimed the land. There was a small cottage inside the rusted gate, which similarly, was clearly unoccupied, but had not fallen into too bad a state of disrepair. The roof was still intact and strong, and a sturdy outbuilding sat alongside it. All of this was overshadowed, however, by an enormous circle of earth and vegetation which was situated on the apex of an incline behind the house. Huge ash, oak and birch trees and an undergrowth of brambles and ferns could be seen growing on the mound, which sat square in the middle of the field. Elizabeth's curiosity had driven her forward and, by this time, she had outstripped Darcy and stood on the edge of the road marvelling up at the structure.

"It is a hillfort **(1)**." She almost jumped at Mr. Darcy's voice behind her, so close to her ear. "They were the dwellings of our ancestors in the ancient past. Would you like to see it?" She could hear the smile in his voice, but she didn't care. She nodded eagerly and he led the way. He opened the gate, cumbersomely due to its rusted state, and walked up to the house. Though he bypassed the door to the cottage, which had been boarded up, he entered the outbuilding and stepped inside, emerging shortly with a blanket-covered basket.

At her inquisitive look he explained, "This house has been unoccupied for over two years and my aunt has found it hard to obtain a tenant in such a remote location. I occasionally have a basket brought here if I am to ride in the area."

Whatever the explanation for its manifestation, she was grateful for the prospect of food. She would not return in time for breakfast and she had worked up quite an appetite.

She turned her attention back to the mound. "Colonel Fitzwilliam did not mention this place when we discussed the views around Rosings," she remarked. Darcy was not pleased at her mentioning his cousin- he had no place here, even in her mind. He only said, "Well I doubt that Fitzwilliam realised your readiness to wander for miles on the slightest pretext." Elizabeth's countenance, which had opened in the face of such a wonderful location, closed off once more. Darcy knew he had stung her with his terseness and cursed his temper, determined to control it in her presence.

He led her, then, around the other side of the cottage into the field and up to the base of the hillfort. It was even more impressive close up: The enormous trees reached into the heavens as she peered up at them. She could see the dimensions of the fort more clearly. It consisted of two concentric circles of raised earth with a rampart and shallow ditch between the ground and the highest level. The entire fort must have been a hundred and fifty feet across and the uppermost ring of earth was at least fifteen feet off the ground. Darcy moved along the bottom of the ring looking for something, until, having found it, he beckoned her over. She saw that an entrance, of gentler incline, would allow them easy access to the first tier. From there it was more difficult to get to the upper level and, after an indecorous attempt to scramble up it, she was forced to accept Mr. Darcy's hand in assistance, his clasp on her gloved fingers matched by one on her waist. He removed his beaver and his leap up after her was surprisingly athletic: she had always thought of him as a staid, sedate man, but there was a vigour there that he hid well.

Now she turned into the fort and discovered herself to be in a magical place. Bluebells freckled the ground in a carpet of violet-blue stars and the light percolating through the trees gave a dreamy, twilit quality to the scene. She wandered around trailing her hands along the trunks of the moss-covered trees and fronds of the larger ferns. She could not have removed the smile from her face had she tried, even when she became aware of Mr. Darcy's steadfast gaze. His eyes when she met them, were earnest, and she felt that he was enjoying her reaction to the sight, rather than the sight itself.

"I need not ask whether you approve of this place, I think."

"No, indeed. It is charming. I was just thinking that we could be in A Midsummer Night's Dream. If a sprite were to leap out from behind the nearest tree, I would hardly bat an eyelid."

"You are right, I am sure. But then, who can think of books when faced with so much beauty?" She had not actually been looking at him during much of their exchange, but now snapped her gaze to his face, shocked at his cheeky quip and anticipating his smug expression. But his eyes bore into hers and his face was open and communicative.

Eventually he broke their stalemate and came forward into the centre of the fort. He began to set up their breakfast, rolling out the blanket in a clear patch under a tree. Before he could reach for it, Elizabeth sat down with the basket, unpacking its contents so that she could concentrate on something other than Mr. Darcy. It contained some rolls- with condiments carefully potted to accompany them- pound cake, pigeon pie, cold ham and cheese. To drink there was iced tea, flavoured with mint, which was still cool, having been kept indoors all morning.

She laid it all out slowly and exactly, with Mr. Darcy's weight, on the blanket beside her, demanding her attention all the while. They ate in silence. She peered about the fort, taking in details that she had missed before; she was transfixed by the stack of large flat mushrooms growing from one of the oak trees **(2).** Darcy had leaned sideways onto his elbow, legs stretched out in front of him, when he had finished the little that he ate. She suspected that he was watching her, but when she turned to take a peak, he was holding a bluebell in his long fingers, and relishing the sweet scent of its nodding flowers.

"I have never seen them flower so early," Elizabeth said, thinking out loud, rather than seeking interaction.

"Nor I. At Pemberley they flower considerably later than here, or even in Hertfordshire, I should think."

They were looking at each other now and Elizabeth needed to avoid that, so she went about clearing up. She put everything back into the basket, until all that was left was the blanket. She stood, hoping that Mr. Darcy would take the hint. When he did not immediately do so, she moved to the tree under which they had sat and began tracing the patterns of its bark with her finger, waiting for him to get up. She did not notice that Darcy, whose attention had not wavered for a moment of their time together that morning, was closely following every stroke. When Elizabeth turned back around he had gotten up, and he was there, standing a foot away from her. Standing over her, rather, as he was so much taller than she. She stumbled back in mute surprise, almost tripping on the uneven roots. He followed her, never taking his eyes off of her face, and she continued to retreat until he had backed her up against the tree and she could go no further. He continued his advance, however, placing his hands on either side of her against the tree trunk and did not break eye contact until he bowed his head, so that it rested to the right of hers. His curls tickled her ear. She was too overwhelmed by his alacrity to consider his motive or his next move. He audibly inhaled, turning his face so that his nose was nestled in her hair.

"You smell sweeter than any flower," he spoke in hushed tones. She briefly considered that, after her sweaty trek of that morning, she undoubtedly did not. She could not dwell on this, though, as Mr. Darcy had taken to nuzzling her. He was bent forward to run his nose and closed mouth along her slender neck and up around the curve of her ear; his arms tense as he grasped the rough bark of the tree behind her. His warm breath tickled her and Elizabeth closed her eyes at the sensation of his bottom lip dragging lustfully across her skin. Just when she was becoming tremulous from the experience, Darcy pushed himself back from the tree and sank to his knees. He was at eye level with her crotch and she let out a gasp when he stuck his nose into it, shaking his head slightly as he inhaled noisily through her skirts. His cheeky grin up at her- like a little boy, aware he is being indulged in his silliness- precluded an angry response. She did not have much chance to give any response, as the new shock of his hand snaking its way up her leg caught her attention. The other followed it and his fingers trailed their way up to her centre, pausing only briefly to push her legs apart and she prepared herself for the inevitable assault, which soon was upon her. She was in familiar territory now and feelings and responses came flooding back to her. This familiarity calmed her somewhat, and she rested her head back against the tree-trunk, only now realising all that she had missed since their last assignation of four months before.

He moved his hands away from her crotch to lift up her dress and the sudden breeze startled her. He bunched up her skirts and pressed them into her hand. She peered down quizzically, but his attention was fixed on her hairy bush. She squirmed under his determined gaze, but he only hovered a moment, before moving slowly in its direction. _What is he doing!_ At the last moment he dove at it, like a ravenous beast and what she felt on his making contact was much like her previous experiences and yet so alien all at once. His tongue was moving on her bud like his finger had done, but it was so much more: it morphed from one form to another, in one instant hard and probing, then soft and caressing , moulding around her form; and it was warm, so warm and moist that she ached for it, though it was still upon her. He thrust it up into her, greedily savouring her tang and spread her legs further in impatience. He bobbed his head as he drove his tongue repeatedly and eagerly up her hole, his free hand reaching under her and alternately clenching and stoking her soft buttocks and thighs.

Unlike their prior encounters, which had taken place in spite of their venue, their current surroundings only added to the experience. Elizabeth chanced to look around her at this cloistered, enchanted location- abundant with life and seemingly designed for romance. She watched the sun dappling the scene and, hearing Darcy's enthusiasm in every lap and groan, she felt her reactions heightening, sensations peaking. She did something daring, even considering her current position: she reached down and hesitantly touched his head. It was the first time she had ever touched him voluntarily, except in the heat of her release, which she would hardly have said was voluntary. Her fingers wove their way through his hair in what could be mistaken for a caress and, finding that she liked the sensation, they stayed there as she mindlessly played with his dark locks.

She was enjoying herself: she was not here for comfort, or to relieve frustration or loneliness, to console her in her grief; she was here- still here, even though she should have bolted the minute he sniffed her- because she was enjoying herself. She was enjoying the attention, the location, the illicit activity, the sensations and the novelty of this new act, but also, to a large extent, she was enjoying Darcy. Darcy, who was selfish and cruel and odd… and suddenly gentle and feasting on her cunt at that very moment in a manner well poised to send her mad.

It scared Elizabeth to admit this and her mind was in upheaval so that her crisis, when she reached it, was unexpected and all the stronger for it **(3)**. Darcy had inserted his fingers and was stroking that rough spot that he remembered, while alternately licking and sucking devotedly at her pearl, and she could feel the pull of the oncoming wave. She had time only to grab his hair and force him closer (for which she would later not be proud), as a signal that it was nearly upon her. He responded appropriately, quickening and lengthening and deepening his movements to meet his objective. She huffed and puffed, trying to maintain control as it built until she could hold back no longer and screamed out her pleasure and tenderness into the air not caring how loud, or unbecoming her expression may be: a pigeon in the trees took fright and fled in a rustle of wings and greenery, and Mr. Darcy's sympathetic groan was felt rather than heard. She realised, at his continuous suckling, that she was again experiencing that release that had so mortified her the first time it had occured, and that Mr. Darcy was diligently swallowing her emissions. She was brought to a second peak at the thought of it, of Darcy's total submission to the satisfaction of her desires and the physical act of discharge felt as if she was being milked of any residual tension. When she had finished, her fading groans finally petering out, she noticed that Darcy was perfectly composed and his eyes were closed, though his tongue was still completing its work, lazily now and he finished with one long pass between her folds. She had kept her hand in his hair, touching it all the while- sometimes tenderly and later nothing short of insistently- and her release of it now was the signal to finish, which he did.

"I did not know that such a thing was possible," she commented through the haze. He smiled boyishly up at her, his hair in suggestive disarray and she recognised that this place had worked a change on him: he had shed the cynicism and hauteur that she had thought so fundamental to his character and, while his dimples were very attractive, his unpredictability was confusing.

He bent his head and removed his cravat, which at this stage was rather unkempt, and she took the opportunity to slip out past him and put some distance between them. What would happen now? In Netherfield, they had existed within the confines of a house full of people and a day, rigidly structured, with all their time accounted for. Now, she was in the middle of nowhere with him; even if they only walked home, it would take the greater part of an hour before she could be rid of him.

But that was presuming that he would want to immediately return home, or at least end their activities. _'You smell sweeter than any flower'_? That was incongruous and did not bode well. Was he trying to seduce her? Is that why he had brought her here? Was this all just a prelude, to lure her in so that he could tup her, leant up against a tree; or splayed on the picnic blanket, staring up at the leafy canopy? _Stop that! That is not helping._ And since when did Mr. Darcy show any passionate inclinations? He was cold and sedate, a heartless stone, and now he had suddenly become a rake!

By the time Mr. Darcy stood up and turned around, some moments later, Elizabeth was physically shaking and ready to run at the first sign of a lure. He was beaming and his obvious contentment rattled her. All considerations fled from her head, except that she must leave, get away from here, and from him.

"My apologies, Mr. Darcy, I find that I must leave precipitously." He was noticeably crestfallen, but rallied admirably and moved to speak. She would not give him the chance to object and spoke again directly.

"Kitty… will be wanting me. Forgive me, I… I must go." He had begun to propose that they walk back together, but she quietened him, refusing in a very incoherent manner. Before he was fully cognisant of what was going on she had disappeared through the ferns and he could just make out her figure, between the openings in the foliage, bolting through the long grass towards the road.

* * *

 **(1)** A hill fort is a type of earthworks used as a fortified refuge or defended settlement, located on the top of a hill for defensive advantage. They are typically European and of the Bronze and Iron Ages (They are not to be confused with the later ring forts of the Middle Ages, which are usually larger and include stone walls). The fortification usually follows the contours of a hill, consisting of one or more lines of earthworks with ramparts (a bank and a ditch) between. Most examples I have seen from England tend to be very manicured and well-kept, if they still exist- many were levelled to farm the land, or sheep were grazed on them; though I'm basing this on internet research and I stand to be corrected. In my description, I am thinking more of an Irish 'fairy fort', which is what they are known as there. Superstition towards fairy forts (that they were a gateway into the sídh, or fairy underworld, which it was unlucky to disturb) and their use as burial grounds for unbaptised babies in centuries past led to many remaining untouched and growing wild like a mini, isolated forest, as even grazing them was discouraged. Often they can be discerned by a circle of trees and undergrowth. My description here is of a wild hill fort, that is not grazed or manicured in anyway.

 **(2)** In case anyone is interested, the mushroom I envision here is the 'chicken of the woods' which grow on tree trunks without stems, just pale yellow caps stacked on top of each other.

 **(3)** 'Crisis' is a term for orgasm that is associated with the theory of Female Hysteria. This fit with the medicalised view of female arousal as a disease and was treated by bringing the patient to a crisis from which they would they recover, not unlike a fever.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

As he watched her tear through the trees, Darcy did not fully understand what had happened. Had he scared her with his intensity? He cursed his impetuousness, but he was sore at her as well. How could she run away from him, leave him after he had so thoroughly pleased her. However, his feelings for her were of sufficient force that his ire soon cooled and was replaced by resolve and not a little frustration. He walked home in bewilderment: he could still taste her and smell her, feel her smooth thighs in his hands. God she drove him insane- so much so that he had forgotten himself. He would need to reassess his tactics before approaching her again.

Such thoughts were how he spent the greater part of the church service the next morning. The ceremony was a tense one for Elizabeth, whose eyes were glued unseeingly to her prayer book for the duration. Out of the side of his vision, Darcy watched her discreetly. Her lack of responsiveness to his subtle attention riled him into carelessness and, by the end of the service, he was staring at her unashamedly. Afterwards, Lady Catherine hustled her party out the door, making any conversation impossible.

* * *

Elizabeth had not gone walking on Sunday and her attendance at church was a good excuse for it, though unlike her. She knew that Mr. Darcy would be out there, that she would not be able to escape him were she to go, and she could not stand to face him. He had scared her. They had broken the rules somehow and she could not predict what would happen next. So she stayed home, attracting Kitty's notice by her unusual inactivity and wallowing in the shame of her cowardice. She was invited to attend Mr. Collins' second service of the day (poorly attended, but Lady Catherine insisted on its continuance, so that Rosings would not forego all its servants at once). Though Kitty could not do likewise, Elizabeth politely declined and she was quite relieved to have the house to herself for a few hours.

She had known that he would turn up at the house eventually, and when she heard a ring at the door, Elizabeth immediately knew it was him. She stood in anticipation, ringing her hands in an effort to calm her nerves. When Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy alone, was announced, she was taken aback that he was unaccompanied by his cousin. He stepped into the parlour, lowering his head to avoid the low door frame. He did not, however, lower his eyes and his gaze did not leave hers, as Mary made to leave and the noise of her shutting the door echoed into silence. Still he did not look away, or move, or speak. She performed her duty in welcoming him and did so, she thought, without betraying too much of the confusion she had been feeling for the past two days. He did not look confused, a little tentative perhaps, but determined also. He returned her greeting politely, if a little stiffly, and accepted her offer to take a seat. He sat at a circular table and she, across from him on a low sofa. When she mentioned that Mr. and Mrs. Collins were at church, he made a show of apologising for intruding on her solitude, but Elizabeth suspected that it was no coincidence. She could only wait for him to reveal his purpose, the purpose, she now realised, that he had been working towards for some time- perhaps since their meetings in the forest had begun. He held his beaver on his knee, which was crossed on the other and bouncing restlessly. He did not seem nervous, but not quite comfortable either. He made a few mundane comments and enquiries about the house, before moving onto the topic of Mr. Collins' marital felicity.

"I was surprised to hear of Mr. and Mrs. Collins' union. My aunt was sceptical of their prospects in matrimony, but they seem to be faring well. Mrs. Collins has been very fortunate in her marriage; it must be very agreeable to her to know that she will soon return to her childhood home." Elizabeth was reminded of the last time he had condescended to discuss the eligibility of her sisters, which did him no favours with her.

"Yes, my whole family has benefitted from my sister's marriage. When viewed in a prudential light, it is a good match for her, but if I may speak plainly, I would not call her fortunate. I would not seek to take her place, nor did I welcome the opportunity when it was presented to me. My sister has sacrificed herself for security- both her own and that of her family- and any felicity that she currently enjoys, or hopes to enjoy, is due to her own tenacity in bringing it about in difficult circumstances: living in one's childhood home would be little consolation for an otherwise miserable life. Nevertheless, I admit that it will be a comfort to Kitty when she is re-united with her family once more." Elizabeth's head was in a spin, as she re-examined the words she had spoken in haste. To any other conversant they would be shockingly personal and inappropriate and she was far too well bred to have said them. And yet she had said them and could not quite convince herself of having been wrong in doing so. The list of transgressions and scandalous intimacies between herself and Mr. Darcy were just too many and too tangled to maintain decorum between them. This was the reason she wished to avoid him: her judgement was crumbling under the influence of his presence.

Darcy, meanwhile had allowed his musings on Elizabeth becoming Mrs. Collins to flow unchecked, clenching the brim of his hat, as he did so. He did not like where these thoughts led him and shook himself out of his dark study, before he drew his chair a little towards her, and said, "You would not wish to be always near home, I think. You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn." Elizabeth was surprised out of her own musings at his comments and looked it. The gentleman recoiled slightly at her reaction, but rather than distance himself from his remarks, he was spurred on and rose from his seat. He set his hat on the table, before crossing quickly to take a seat beside her. He sat far too close for her comfort.

All her prickly comments had not succeeded in putting him off and the time had come for him to declare himself. She wondered to what his comments about Longbourn pertained. She had thought these last few days that Mr. Darcy certainly did want something from her. Was this his way of suggesting that she would wish to leave Longbourn… with him? What was he proposing? He had long ago pronounced her to be unmarriageable, so what did that leave? Just as he opened his mouth to speak, simultaneously reaching for her hand, her courage failed her and she was unable to endure his declaration.

"Will you take some tea, Mr. Darcy?" she almost cried, jumping out of her seat. "I will call for Mary." In the bustle of her errand, she almost missed his answer, accompanied by a wry smile, demonstrating that, far from being annoyed at her evasion, he took it for shyness and found it adorable. This only increased Elizabeth's embarrassment and she made certain to remain standing until the tea arrived.

The Collins' arrival home, while she was still setting out the tea things, was met by Mr. Darcy with a less equanimous expression than her own interruptions had been and he was barely civil to the pair. He stayed not long after that, taking his leave with a significant look to Elizabeth that she prayed was not caught by any other in the room.

The pair from Rosings continued to call most days, but Elizabeth was steadfast in her refusal to be affected by one gentleman's presence and her determination to enjoy the other's, though she was not often successful in either endeavour. Given the number of them in the room, she could easily manage to spend a whole visit without so much as looking in Mr. Darcy's direction. This combined with her new habit of taking her exercise by walking into the village for the post, meant that she could, for the time being, avoid any conversation with Mr. Darcy.

* * *

Lady Catherine had the group from the parsonage for tea on several occasions in the seven night following her first meeting with Elizabeth- each evening as tedious and repressive as the next- until they were finally deemed worthy of a dinner invitation. It was to be served promptly at five on the appointed evening; not the most fashionable hour for that repast, but, as Lady Catherine explained, "We keep country hours here and do not need to bow to every London fashion **(1)**." They were assembled in the drawing room waiting to be called in to dinner, when Colonel Fitzwilliam approached Elizabeth and manoeuvred them away from the group, into the area by the fireplace. She was grateful for the escape from the close proximity to a certain gentleman, but it was clear that Colonel Fitzwilliam was uneasy. This much she could tell, but she was not expecting the apologies he began to make for his past conduct towards her and the discomfort he believed it had caused her. He was very eager to assure her of his feelings of amity and sate his own conscience.

"I never intended to make you in any way uncomfortable or to give a false impression of myself. I am a naturally forward fellow and sometimes my tongue runs away with me. I do beg your pardon for my brazen impertinence, Miss Bennet. I was absolutely unconscious of any…"

She could not allow him to continue in his misapprehension and broke out of her confusion to assure him strenuously that he had never offended her. The very idea that Colonel Fitzwillliam- who had proven himself in all of his words and actions to be most truly a gentleman- could vex her was laughable. His smile in relief was genuine and broad, but he seemed as yet too uncertain to return to their former informality.

Her efforts to put him at ease with her usual impudence were much appreciated and, within a very few minutes conversation, they were almost back to what they had been. They re-joined the main group at this stage, which prompted Lady Catherine to call them all to dinner, urging a sulking Mr. Darcy to escort herself and Anne. The Colonel offered Elizabeth his arm and they followed the trio to the dining room, with a puffed up Mr. Collins and his spouse taking up the rear. Elizabeth tried to attend to the Colonel, but Mr. Darcy's proximity stirred her as always; all the more so, because she had not been so close to him in some days. If she leaned forward slightly, she could smell him: an aroma of clean soap and some other unique, masculine scent surrounded him. The sight of one of his damp curls resting on his white starched collar was captivating and her mind wandered to how it may have come to be wet. What had he been doing that morning; all the mornings since she had walked with him last? She remembered the feel of his silky curls in her grasp.

When they reached the table they found that Lady Catherine had arranged Mr. Darcy and her daughter on either side of her. Though Darcy was still standing, waiting for all the ladies to be seated, there was no doubt of his position: for symmetry's sake, there would be no seat at the bottom of the table- which must surely have gone to him- a decision which was only supported by Lady Catherine's desire to keep both Mr. Darcy and her daughter close, so that she might better promote and direct conversation between the pair. Elizabeth took the seat two down from Miss De Bourgh on Lady Catherine's left side, leaving Kitty to sit beside Mr. Darcy on the right. This did not gratify Kitty much, but Elizabeth reasoned that she had not had to accompany him walking for almost a seven night and could do very well for the length of one dinner.

When the ladies were seated, Mr Darcy took his place, looking across in Elizabeth's direction. He was displeased with her position so far from him and made little conversation, none at all with Kitty. The Colonel, still continuing their badinage, sat beside Elizabeth without considering that this would force Mr. Collins into the social gaffe of sitting with his own wife. Mr. Collins was too impressed with the Colonel's exalted ancestry, his relationship to Lady Catherine and his impressive uniform to countenance calling the man out on his error and took it with as much grace as he could. Her Ladyship, who, with a keen eye, had seen it all, was not displeased and so did not interfere: Collins had the habit of fawning over Anne, who must give all her attention to Darcy, so it was just as well that he be seated as far from her as possible.

She merely smiled at the Colonel and remarked, "I see we are dining promiscuously this evening **(2)** ," to which he would ordinarily have laughed heartily, were it not for the delicate company and the unsettled nature of his renewed friendship with Miss Bennet. Still, an amused smile graced his lips and he looked to Darcy to share his enjoyment. He was met with a look of cold fury, to which he coughed in surprise and looked away, baffled, but not eager to seek an explanation from the awful object that his cousin now posed.

As they all went about examining the dishes before them, Lady Catherine announced that of course there would be two courses **(3** ). Elizabeth had expected no less. The table was laden with nine dishes- very impressive for a relatively intimate party, especially if there were to be removes **(4).** The platters were formally laid out in a precise and symmetrical fashion; there was ham with greens and a leg of mutton (no scrag end here), boiled vegetables, a ragout and a fricassee, meat pie, and stewed tongue. These were flanked by a tureen of turtle soup at the top of the table and a dressed salmon at the bottom. Elizabeth glanced longingly in Lady Catherine's direction, where the choicest dishes had been placed, undoubtedly by design **(5).**

Colonel Fitzwilliam recognised her object and whispered conspiratorially, "Fear not, Miss Bennet, you will have a piece of that mutton, if I have to mount an invasion into enemy territory to get it!" Elizabeth's laughing response served to dispel the remaining awkwardness between them and they settled down to dine in concord. As the chaotic sharing and passing of dishes commenced, each gentleman began to carve the meat nearest to him, Mr. Collins feeling blessed to share the duty with two such distinguished gentlemen, even if he was left with the fish. Colonel Fitzwilliam, true to his word, requested some mutton from Mr. Darcy, on Elizabeth's behalf. That gentleman's countenance had not improved and even Lady Catherine became aware of his being so out of sorts. Given his foul mood, Elizabeth was somewhat surprised to see him smile at her once when their eyes met by chance, strained though it was. She returned to Colonel Fitzwilliam's conversation immediately.

At one point they could not help but hear Lady Catherine address Mr. Darcy from across the table. "I happened to read Georgiana's last letter to Anne from London. She is following my advice on the piano, I see. No excellence in music can be acquired, you know, without constant practice and one should, at all times, be vigilant against complacency. She must not neglect it on any account."

"Miss Bennet would do well to remember that," she ejaculated, so that the whole table could hear and Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed at his aunt's ill-breeding. Her Ladyship turned back to Mr. Darcy to come to her point. "But I cannot be so approving of her other activities. Did you know she frequented a music shop with her companion last week and actually played a trumpet. A trumpet! Well, needless to say, I sent her an express direct to reprimand her for such imprudent behaviour." Aware and complacent that the whole table was attending to her, she turned to the party and pronounced:

"No lady considering herself worthy of that title should blow into anything **(6)**!"

Elizabeth and the Colonel were barely able to keep their countenances by this point and only Darcy's need to answer prevented him from losing his, sorely as he would have liked to join their camaraderie.

"Yes aunt, I did know, for she wrote to me of her excursion at the time. She was enquiring after some sheet music when the lady behind the counter noticed her admiring the brass instruments. Since the shop was empty she offered to let her try one. It was all perfectly innocent." He was prevented from offering any further assurances to his aunt by the sound of Elizabeth and the Colonel's conspiring whispers and stifled guffaws drifting across the table. He was so enraged. All his efforts to separate the pair had rebounded and they now seemed thicker than ever. Her Ladyship, though not comprehending the subject of their mirth, was likewise displeased at their independence and disregard for her authority, and would have interrupted, had she not been anticipated.

Darcy suddenly stood- the universal signal that a toast was imminent- and was uncharacteristically gratified to see all at the table turn his way, Elizabeth included. He lifted his glass and said, "I beg your indulgence, aunt, for toasting before my host, but given the lack of gentleman at the bottom of the table, I feel I am best poised to begin the toasting by thanking you for this excellent dinner and wishing you all health and happiness. Won't you drink a glass with me?" Lady Catherine did not know whether to be gratified by her nephew's show of esteem, pleased at his allusions to his special relationship to Rosings, or annoyed at his challenge. She did drink with him, draining her glass in one long, elegant quaff as Colonel Fitzwiliiam cheered them on. Darcy sat down, stunned by his own display, and wiped his chin with his napkin. His glass was quickly refilled by a waiting servant. No sooner had he sat, however, than Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had returned to their conversation- though this time Mrs. Collins also took part. He stewed in his seat, ignoring Her Ladyship's efforts to promote her daughter to his attention **(7).**

Meanwhile, Elizabeth and the Colonel were getting along famously. The misunderstanding between them had by now, if anything, improved their ease with each other, as the undemanding and friendly disposition of each toward the other was now clear. After a few minutes' observation of their intimacy, Darcy could stand it no longer. For want of some other means of interference or relief, he stood again.

"Fitzwilliam, drink a toast with me." His words were amicable, but his tone was icy. It was clear he would brook no opposition, yet his cousin, though confused, was not cowed: he was no novice at drinking games or challenges of pride. He called for his glass to be filled to the top for good measure, watching his cousin closely and quizzically while the task was done. They raised their glasses and drained them, and their toast was accompanied by Lady Catherine's wildly inappropriate comments on the virility of Fitzwilliam men. Their encounter lacked the good nature that Colonel Fitzwilliam's cheers had given the last and Elizabeth was aware of some unspoken antipathy underlying the game. Fitzwilliam banged his glass down on the table slightly ahead of Mr. Darcy, though neither man spilled a drop. Darcy begrudgingly recognised him with a minute nod and sat down. Fitzwilliam, seeing fun to be had, remained standing, in turn, and looked to Mr. Collins, whose face could be mistaken for a man facing a duel to the death. When propositioned, he gulped audibly, but dared not refuse. He managed to finish his glass at length with some spluttering and dribbling of wine down his clean, white cravat.

In fairness to the man, he was eager to pass on the compliment and turned to the most deserving personage in the room. "Lady Catherine, would you do me the honour of sharing a libation with me on this most happy occasion?" he asked, performing as low an obeisance as he could without dipping his hair into the melted butter **(8).** She accepted, rolling her eyes as she tossed her head back to drain her glass before he had even raised his to his lips. She was not generally a bibulous woman and this second toast, in such quick succession put her in a generous mood. She condescended to drink a glass with Kitty, who was almost as happy as her husband at her being singled out by the lady. Kitty passed on the compliment to her sister with a rather sweet dedication to her kindness and Elizabeth now felt that it was her turn to toast. She looked up the table past the Colonel to Anne, who she felt obliged for the sake of courtesy to include in the game.

"Miss De Bourgh, will you take a glass with me?"

Lady Catherine interrupted immediately and indignantly, "What are you thinking, Miss Bennet. Anne is not drinking wine this evening- it dries out her skin! Do you wish bad luck upon her?! **(9)** " In the midst of her haranguing, Elizabeth was rescued from further reproach by Mr. Darcy of all people.

"Perhaps I may be able to accept the toast on cousin Anne's behalf," he suggested- a little too eagerly, he thought. Forestalling the inevitable, Elizabeth avoided looking at him, for as long as possible. She concentrated on Lady Catherine's ridiculous enthusiasm, Anne De Bourgh's vague thanks, her cousin's commendation of Darcy's chivalry- everything but him. He wanted her to acknowledge him, to share this moment, but would get no such satisfaction. She returned her gaze to Anne, while raising her glass and finally at the last possible instant, she turned to Mr. Darcy, catching his eye for the merest moment, before finishing off her drink. She turned back to Anne and flashed a superficial smile, before taking her seat.

As the round of toasting was ostensibly over, the table broke up into conversation. Darcy, far from satisfied with his manoeuvred toast with Elizabeth, could think of little else as the first course was cleared in a flurry of servants and crockery. The second, when it was set, contained lighter dishes to excite the palate: scalloped oysters and potted crab; dressed cauliflower, sea kale, and potatoes; wood pigeon garnished with a salad and a collared halibut rounded out the savoury dishes. There was also a cheesecake, an elaborately moulded jelly and a rhubarb tart to tempt them. The wine continued to flow freely, topped up frequently by their silent attendants. Elizabeth, when she could ignore her cousin's place across from her, quite enjoyed the conversation at her end of the table and was soon pleasantly full of good food and mellow from the large quantity of wine- 'a trifle disguised' as her mother would say **(10).** The rest of the table was in a similar condition and she and the Colonel spoke so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music that Elizabeth had never been half so entertained at Rosings before.

The Colonel's nazy equability manifested itself in his feeling comfortable revisiting their misunderstanding in the drawing room, this time in the spirit of fun **(11).** He finished his self-depricating recount of his mortification with, "I should never have given any credence to Darcy's warning. I told him he was mistaken, but then I thought back to our recent conversation at the parsonage and thought there might have been something to it." Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears, and yet it made so much sense. It was a trial to prevent herself from inquisitioning the Colonel for further details.

He was soon distracted by other topics and in his foxed state was enthusiastic enough for both of them; which was convenient as Elizabeth was no more than nominally participating in the conversation. Her eyes wandered to Mr. Darcy who she was by now unsurprised to find examining her. He did not look away and neither would she, disturbed though she was. He stood up, yet again, slowly this time, cutting off Lady Catherine who was in the middle of an address in his direction. He had not broken eye-contact with her and continued a moment to watch her, seemingly unaware of her disarray.

He raised his glass unhurriedly and in equally deliberate manner asked, "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honour of drinking a glass with me?" The table stared at them in silence. His gaze on her was earnest and steadfast. Its intensity discomfited her, but she stood also, begrudgingly, and held his gaze as she raised her glass. She put it to her lips, and swallowed carelessly, maintaining the connection between them until it was almost drained. She threw her head back with abandon to drain the last of it, so that Darcy had trouble keeping up with her. He managed to finish in unison with her, however, and wiped his mouth triumphantly with the back of his hand. Elizabeth set her wineglass down on the table with more force than strictly necessary and her return to her seat was rather meek in comparison with her brazen toping. She finished her plate with renewed zeal for its contents.

Lady Catherine came out of her shock to rebuke her nephew. "Darcy what are you thinking! I am surprised at your indecorum- you are not at your club now, Sir. We don't tolerate such coarse behaviour here **(12)**." She glared down the table at Elizabeth, leaving her in no doubt that she held her equally responsible for this vulgarity.

"That is enough of that wine. Russell, take these glasses away! We shall forgo passing around the bottle this evening **(13).** We are ready for dessert." Her Ladyship said all this in a very short temper, eager for the incident to be forgotten. She felt that this was best done by harrying the servants and chastising Anne for her poor posture.

The rest of the evening was a torment for Elizabeth. Lady Catherine, who had taken quite a shine to Mrs. Collins' remarkable sister, had effectively frozen her out from that minute on. She had not been asked to play and, from the moment the gentlemen followed them into the drawing room, Lady Catherine had hinted baldly about their going home so that they did not even stay to have tea. Elizabeth had never felt such affinity with the lady's sentiments before and their departure could not come soon enough for her. That Darcy cared not for her discomfort, even enjoyed it at times, she had long known, but to mortify her in front of so many was a new low in her experience of the man.

Elizabeth's mood was not improved by Mr. Collins' comments on their walk home. He had said barely a word to Mr. Darcy after his remarkable toast, and not a syllable of censure, but felt justified in edifying Elizabeth on her behaviour at dinner. He spent the journey vacillating between excusing Mr. Darcy's toast as innocent fun, and castigating Elizabeth for enticing the man (to do what, she wondered, since he had just proclaimed it all to be innocuous). She retired early to escape him and as she trudged up the stairs in high dudgeon, found that she could not easily forgive Mr. Darcy his caprice in singling her out that evening.

* * *

Mr. Darcy's indiscretion seemed to be soon forgotten as the whim of a very rich and slightly inebriated man. Lady Catherine proved to have an unexpectedly short memory (no doubt disbelieving that a nephew of hers could be tempted by the dowerless sister-in-law of a common parson) and the household received an invitation to tea as usual some days later **(14).** On the evening in question, the entire party had dressed early, due to Mary having been promised the evening off. Kitty had improved in her management of the domestics, but asking Mrs. Martin (who did not live in) to stay beyond her time as a replacement was a feat of bravery to which she had not yet equal; and so both servants had left the house and Elizabeth sat on the bed in her finery, biding her time by reading a letter from Jane.

In the fortnight since her arrival in London, Jane had suffered a rude awakening as to Mr Bingley's affections. Her reception when she had called on Miss Bingley had been decidedly frosty and had gone unreturned until the morning before. When she had visited Gracechurch Street, Miss Bingley had made it clear that her brother was aware of Jane's being in town, but had no plans to call. Jane had finally given up all hope of Mr. Bingley and, although Elizabeth was thankful that her sister was no longer deceived, she shared in her distress. To think that she had been consorting with one of the architects of her beloved sister's misery put her not only in a rage with him, but also herself. She thought back to how she had felt immediately after Mr. Darcy's departure from Netherfield. She could never have imagined then that she would fall back into such dealings with the man. And this conviction had only intensified on hearing Wickham's story of his ill treatment at Darcy's hands. _That poor man!_ She had barely thought of Mr. Wickham for weeks, and certainly never confronted Darcy for his actions. The weight of her guilt at that moment was crushing: on top of her doubts about her own chastity and morality, she had to contend with the thought that she had colluded with such a monster as she was reminded that Mr. Darcy was.

All of this reflection and self-flagellation created the perfect conditions for a mammoth headache and Elizabeth found when the time of their departure drew near that she was not fit for an evening at Rosings. Mr. Collins was affronted on Lady Catherine's behalf, but Elizabeth stood strong in her decision and he left with his wife- not for the first time glad that he had married one sister and not the other, if she was so stubborn on such a trifling pretext.

When they left, Elizabeth had the run of the house, moving languidly from room to room, until she settled in the parlour, out of habit. She was in such a state that she did not know what to do with herself. She would attempt to read her novel, but could not get through a page of it. She would stand and sit, pace and stare out of the window, but no matter what position or occupation she tried, she could not escape from herself, or her thoughts and the constant distraction drained her.

* * *

If there had been a ring of the bell, she missed it. Her first awareness of a visitor was of three insistent thumps on the front door. Confused as to who would introduce themselves in this way, yet furtively enjoying the novelty of answering her own door, she did so, without much thought as to the consequences. Mr. Darcy was there, dark and commanding in the doorway, though not for long as he stepped over the threshold with a curt greeting. She was not inclined to bring him further into the house, but he moved immediately down the hall and into the parlour. When she entered it, he stood facing the door.

"Will you not sit down?" Evidently he would not, as he stood brooding in the middle of the room.

"You find me all alone this evening. I was feeling unwell, and so stayed home from Rosings, but the servants have departed for the evening." She spoke to fill the uncomfortable silence, but immediately regretted informing him of her vulnerable position.

"Forgive me. I hope you are feeling better," he said stolidly.

"I am, thank you," she replied, equally dispassionately. They seemed about to lapse into silence and she took a jaded breath, looking away from him in search of relief. In a burst of movement, he stepped forcefully towards her until he loomed over her, and in a voice quieter than she had expected, but of alarming warmth he spoke:

"Enough of this evasion. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

* * *

 **(1)** Dinner (not to be confused with the later and lighter meal of supper) became later and later in the regency period. P &P describes the Bingleys, people 'of decided fashion' dining at 6.30: still early by our standards. The routine of the household was generally earlier in the country than Town, with people rising and retiring earlier in the day.

 **(2)** In earlier years it had been the norm for gentlemen to sit on one side of the table and ladies on the other. As the fashion changed, the name for alternated seating was to 'dine promiscuously'. _Dining at the Great House: Food and Drink in the Time of Jane Austen:_ _www dot jasna dot org/persuasions/printed/number12/sutherland2 dot htm_

 **(3)** The dinner is 'à la Française'. There were usually one or two courses comprising of a huge variety of dishes- anywhere from 5 to 25, both sweet and savoury that would all be displayed together on the table in a planned out arrangement. A simple desert would follow- fruit and nuts usually. The hostess would let them know at the beginning of dinner how many courses there would be, so that they would know whether they could fill up on what was available. 'You see your dinner,' was code for 'there will only be one course'. _Structuring the Meal: the revolution of service à la Russe: www dot academia dot edu/1149156/Structuring_the_Meal_The_Revolution_of_Service_%C3%A0_la_Russe_

 **(4)** Removes: dishes that were to be added to the table when another had been removed, but not counted as a new course. _www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Dcrse &ctyp=0_

 **(5)** The array of dishes laid out was primarily for show and it was not intended that every guest would try all of them. Although it was a relatively chaotic and intimate affair, it was considered ill-bred, even for men, to stretch too far across the table to get to a dish or to pass dishes about. One could ask for a servant's assistance, but it was seen as gluttonous and discourteous and the placement of the food, as well as the company, was of primary concern when choosing a seat. _www dotreg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Franc &ctyp=0_

 **(6)** This is a paraphrase of something I found online that I just had to use. 'No lady considering herself worthy of that title would blow into anything.' Because of the reddening of the face or unseemly bosom heaving that might ensue, the choice of instruments that a lady could take up was limited. _www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Acc &ctyp=0_

 **(7)** I have found two conflicting descriptions of toasting. One is more along the lines of what we would recognise as a toast- one person makes the toast and all others drink to that person. One difference is that apparently every guest at the dinner was to be toasted, and often absent people as well. ' _The Fine Art of Toasting in the Regency': regencyredingote dot wordpress dot com/2013/03/15/the-fine-art-of-toasting-in-the-regency/_ I imagine, though, that this must generally have been reserved for more formal occasions than the dinner here and that the party is not expecting Darcy to stand and begin his toast to Lady Catherine. I also do not believe that Jane Austen ever mentions a toast in all her descriptions of dining. I could imagine it being common in military and naval environments, such as on board ship.  
Another source describes toasting as a sort of duel, as well as an honour, where a host or guest would single out another diner to drink a glass with them. They would both then have to drain their glasses. No one could refuse the challenge- not even old ladies or adolescents. It was a point of honour to accept and a triumph to walk away from the table unaided. The Making of Victorian Values, Decency and Dissent in Britain: 1789-1837: _www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Party &ctyp=0  
_Here I have chosen to follow the latter procedure of toasting. Darcy challenges Lady C to take a drink with him, which she cannot really refuse.

 **(8)** Melted butter was not precisely that, but a sauce for vegetables made with butter, flour and water.

 **(9)** Anne De Bourgh is not drinking wine, but water. The only time a toast was drunk with water was when toasting a member of the Royal Navy killed in battle. At any other time, using water was considered extremely unlucky. _The Fine Art of Toasting in the Regency: regencyredingote dot wordpress dot com/2013/03/15/the-fine-art-of-toasting-in-the-regency/_

 **(10)** A trifle disguised: To be slightly drunk.

 **(11)** Nazy: drunken.

 **(12)** It was not considered socially acceptable for a genteel young lady to be toasted by a gentleman, for fear of losing her reputation; yet such a toast to a lovely Cyprian (courtesan) would only enhance that woman's consequence and celebrity. However, as I previously stated, the more competitive form of toasting was done under the rules that all were fair game and no-one could refuse. I have adopted a middle ground between the two. So far in this dinner party, no toasts have been made that could be considered inappropriate: Darcy-Lady C.; Darcy-Fitzwilliam; Collins-Lady C.; Lady C.-Kitty; Kitty-Elizabeth; Elizabeth-Anne De B. (Darcy acting as proxy). Darcy's toast with Elizabeth now is the only one that may be seen as inappropriate (in a more conservative view of toasting), as she is a single young woman, but allowable under the 'competition' rules.

 **(13)** Lady Catherine is speaking about the custom of gentlemen passing around a bottle of wine after the ladies have left for the drawing room. She is telling the gentlemen that they are not to drink any more that evening. _The Cambridge Edition of the Juvenilia, Peter Sabor: www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_showpage dot php?ccode=Wine &ctyp=0_

 **(14)** History is not the past, only our impression and reconstruction of it. Any research into this era throws up a lot of contradictory information, so there's a lot of interpretation involved here. My instinct is that it would be considered forward of Darcy to toast with Elizabeth, but the idea that it would be grounds for Mr. Collins to call for a duel (as one article I read suggested would happen when a single young lady was toasted by a man) seems a bit extreme in the surprisingly loose regency period. The Regency was an era of transition, between the vibrant 18th Century and the staid Victorian era and change was happening, but unevenly, and attitudes and rituals of the Georgian era lingered on. In this scenario, it has created a bit of gossip, but no-one takes it too seriously, especially considering there is no other flirting between the two.


	14. Chapter 14

**Recap:** Due to an epidemic of scarlet fever, which kills Mr. Bennet and Mary, the oldest Bennet daughters' stay at Netherfield is extended. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional sexual relationship, before he leaves suddenly for London, frightened by the strength of his feelings for her and afraid that he will lose control and compromise her. After meeting Mr. Darcy again at Rosings, Elizabeth becomes alarmed by his attentions, fearing that he has some nefarious plans for her. After he embarrasses her with an inappropriate toast at dinner, she avoids the next invitation to tea. He turns up at the house when she is alone and announces that he loves her.

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Elizabeth opened the door to him herself. _Ah yes, the servants._ Lady Catherine had been most displeased with Mr. Collins when he had let slip that he had left her home alone. Well she wasn't alone now. Mr. Darcy moved inside, not thinking to wait for her invitation before presuming his way into the parlour; this had gone on long enough and he needed resolution this evening. She gave him some story about being ill- a likely tale: he knew her to be in robust health, not thin and vague like his cousin. Did she know, he wondered. Did she know that he would come? That she had summoned him with her absence as surely as if she had sent for him.

Once she had joined him in the parlour Elizabeth's civility maintained a reserve between them; she couldn't meet his eyes and was obviously uncomfortable. Elizabeth wanted him, he knew she did, but why she insist on running from him, Darcy could not explain. Her increasing distress agitated him and he was half rage, half ardour by the time he exploded in proclamation of his tender and long-held adoration.

* * *

In a burst of movement, he stepped forcefully towards Elizabeth until he loomed over her and in a voice quieter than she had expected, but of alarming warmth he spoke.

"Enough of this evasion! It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

He did not look particularly loving: his brow was creased and he almost glowered down at her. She knew that he was not finished and dreaded the advances he was about to make, yet she could not bring herself to do anything but wait for him to continue in dismay and anticipation. He needed no encouragement, so stifled did he feel, and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed.

"In vain I have struggled, but to no avail. Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard, which, despite all my efforts, has overcome every rational objection, and I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted and was silent. _His wife?_ From the moment he had mentioned love, she had thought this an attempted seduction, but marriage, she had never countenanced.

Darcy needed to let her know that he was serious, that all her apprehension about his intentions and evasion of his touch were for nothing. He took her silence for acquiescence and began to speak with unbecoming fervour of the obstacles which he had overcome to present his suit: namely her family's lack of fortune, connection, or even manners. Much of this she had heard before in the guise of his concern for Mr. Bingley. This speech certainly shed new light on that one and she realised that Mr. Bingley's nuptial felicity had become a sacrificial lamb on the altar of Mr. Darcy's self-control. He rounded out his diatribe, stepping far too close for a man who so recently had disparaged her entire family:

"None of this can be helped, however. I trust that our… passion… will be such, as to ameliorate the degradation of such a reprehensible connection." He paused, though the light in his eyes suggested that he was feeling uncharacteristically verbose and would not stop there.

Finally, Elizabeth found her voice. "Mr. Darcy, you presuppose my acceptance, but you forget that I have made you no answer. I believe that we have both been grossly mistaken as to the intentions of the other and I confess I am shocked at your proposal; I have never sought your affections and you have most aggressively fought against the urge to bestow them. "

To say that Mr. Darcy was stunned would not do justice to the conviction he had felt of her acceptance. He could not speak immediately. Moving about the room, he stopped periodically, by the fire, or the window, attempting to comprehend her response, only to repeat the procedure all over again when he failed to fathom it. Eventually, he turned to face her and expressed his incredulity in the strongest terms.

"You stand there and tell me that you have never sought my affections, when you pursued me all the way to my bedchamber for want of them!"

Elizabeth had known he would not take the rejection well and was accustomed to his propensity to lash out when distressed. "I sought your attentions, Sir; never your affections." she replied coolly. He acted as if he had not heard her; perhaps he had not, in his disbelief.

"As for my reluctance to give in to my sentiments," he declared, "I will admit that I did, for a long time, struggle with my feelings, as I have said, but given our relative status that was only natural; and you cannot tell me that you are surprised by my proposal. My attentions recently have been marked: I all but declared myself at dinner, for God's sake."

"Your attentions, Mr. Darcy, have been inconsistent and confusing, at best, unless scowling silence can be considered courting." In the silence left by Mr. Darcy's finally conceding a point, she contemplated how unattractive she must look with her sour expression and arched brow, delivering a shrewish tongue-lashing. _Can I make him fall out of love with me this easily? Is he even in love, or endeavouring to justify his baser instincts?_

Mr. Darcy finally came to the point. "Are you refusing me?" he asked in a brusque tone, the question she thought she had already comprehensively answered. It was just like Mr. Darcy to make her say it so plainly, to make her act cruelly and expose herself: he had a talent for that. Darcy, agonising in the negative space between his question and her answer, had never felt himself so vulnerable in all his life. He was certainly not eager to inspire her malice, but could not abide uncertainty. He was finding it hard to maintain eye contact, and thus was staring at her unrelentingly.

Under his glare, Elizabeth could not verbalise her refusal- much to her chagrin- in the strong voice that she wished for and a strangled "Yes, I am." was all she could manage. When she had given her answer, she began to think what it would mean- what Darcy had offered her in becoming his wife and what she had lost and preserved in refusing him.

"And this is all the reply I am to have the honour of expecting?" Mr. Darcy seemed to have grown in height as well as in hauteur. "I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected: in direct contradiction of your avid and visible enjoyment of my company on previous occasions. But it is of small importance."

Elizabeth steeled herself for a moment and made a futile effort to cool her blood and calm her mind. "It is not my wish to occasion pain to anyone, but I must speak plainly: I do not love you. I cannot return your sentiments and so I am unable to accept your proposal, whatever other considerations may support your application."

She expected that Mr. Darcy would retreat, mortified by her statement. He was startled at her candour, but shortly, began to smile- of all possible reactions, he was smiling!

"Your actions tell the lie to your refusal. I recall you practically begging me at one point."

"I cannot believe you would act in such a manner or enter into such an arrangement as ours without some regard." In a quieter voice, frighteningly caring to Elizabeth's ears, he continued, "You are… nervous, I think- intimidated by the prospect of your new position."

Elizabeth was too startled by this last comment to acknowledge it. Neither was the messy truth of their entanglement convenient to her purpose, so she brushed it aside.

"I agreed to our arrangement to meet a purely physical need," she dissembled.

Darcy was not in the mood to be so obliging, however. "I will not humour your self-delusions. It was never just physical, though your need, as you put it, was part of it. And quite a need it was; voracious, one might say." He revelled in her furious countenance.

"How do you intend to sate your appetite in the future? With such high standards and without the dowry to match them, you may never marry. You cannot go through life chaste and you will find yourself in serious peril if you try to lead on another man as you have done me. Or have you already set your cap at someone?" Here his voice became cold and sharp. "If Fitzwilliam is the man, then I may as well tell you, you can give that up- he cannot offer for you."

Reminded of his interference in her acquaintance with the Colonel, she jumped in to the rebut him. "For your information, I have no current intentions to wed Colonel Fitzwilliam or anyone else. Oh yes, I know you warned him away from me. That was one of the more mortifying conversations I have ever had. The poor Colonel felt the need to debase himself in apology for a slight that was all of your imagining. At least now I can understand the motivations for your mendacity, though it casts you in no better light."

Mr. Darcy had at least the good grace to appear ashamed of his deceit. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should not have interfered. However, it was done with good intentions and my intervention was for the best, for both parties; you will come to see that," he said in a quiet, dismissive tone.

He was silent then and it was clear that, despite his words to the contrary, he couldn't brush off his guilt as easily as all that. Upon comprehending the ignominy of his own actions, he turned to condemning hers.

"This is absurd. What are you thinking? After all we have done we must marry, there can be no two opinions on the matter. I have never before heard of the compromised woman being the one to run away from her responsibilities!"

Elizabeth found that she could meet his abusive arguments with perfect calm, hardened as she was to his invectives. "Mr. Darcy, I am not compromised in any meaningful way," she replied steadily. "There can be no scandal as long as there is no evidence or witness to the act. If I were compromised it would be your doing. You took advantage of an innocent."

Mr. Darcy almost growled at this description of himself, but she barrelled through his attempted objection. "And yet you did not take it upon yourself to propose for four months after the first act. My reputation has obviously never been a consideration before, so you can hardly take the moral high ground and claim such concern for it now. If a sense of responsibility is your true motive, rest assured that you have done your duty with your proposal and need feel no further obligation."

This speech enraged Darcy. He grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders and shook her slightly as he spoke. "Stop this. You know what I am about and obligation has nothing to do with it."

He was looking at her in the most intriguing manner, still holding her. He was infuriated. However, it seemed that, now that he had said his piece and was standing in such close proximity to her, he was only so because he was trying to be; endeavouring to remain angry with her, in spite of a softer emotion creeping up behind his conscious thought, which shone from his features despite himself. Elizabeth needed to revive the animosity between them, or she thought he may do something very foolish.

"Do not think that I have missed the self-congratulation in your words- the presumption that you could be the only man to ever please me in that way, or that I couldn't find another who would have sincere intentions towards me. I can think of at least one gentleman who seems to enjoy my company very much, and is not deterred by my situation; Mr. Wickham has been a frequent caller at Longbourn since joining the local regiment. I believe you are acquainted."

Her words had their intended effect. Finally she had silenced and repulsed him. He flushed red and his eyelids twitched slightly as he struggled to comprehend what she had just said. During their conversation he had changed position several times, coming in close and backing away, pacing the room in rangy steps when in full flow. Now he was all but on top of her, his grip on her arms, painful, and she was scared, for the first time, that he would strike her- so furious was he.

"What of Wickham," he spat. "What is your connection to him? How do you know that man?!" He struggled to control himself. No, not control, he was far past that; just trying to manage his discomposure, as he screamed in her face. _Oh God, Please not again. Let her have had no part in any of Wickham's schemes._

She could not speak in her shock, yet felt she could not afford to remain silent.

"I do not know what you are insinuating, Sir, but Wickham is an acquaintance, nothing more; and quite a recent one, as I have said," she replied shakily. She was humiliated to be forced to row back on her words and admit that, despite her efforts to convince him otherwise- despite Mr. Wickham's familiar demeanour towards her- she did not really know the man. Her words were ice water through his searing veins, quenching the fire of his growing dread. _Of course she is not in league with him. How could you think such a thing of her!_ Still, he knew Wickham, and the man was incapable of a respectable connection with a woman.

"Though, he has been quite forthcoming on your treatment of his inheritance," Elizabeth continued with the express intent of injuring the man before her. "I find Mr. Wickham to be charming: agreeable in both countenance and manner. He is an acquaintance I should very much like to know better."

"You would claim us to be no more than acquaintances," Darcy hissed. "Is Mr. Wickham as well acquainted with you as I am… or more so? I know full-well his insinuating manners. Perhaps he has succeeded in getting to know you even better than I have!"

It took a moment for Elizabeth to parse Mr. Darcy's words- to comprehend the insult and to deliver a well-deserved slap across the face. The crack of her palm on his cheek was oddly satisfying for them both: like a bolt of lightning in a pregnant sky.

Before he knew what he was doing Darcy had backed her into the door- slammed her into it, almost- oblivious to her writhing between his hands. He crushed his lips against hers passionately and desperately. If he had been looking, he would have seen her widened eyes staring right back at him, but his were screwed shut in an expression of tense ecstasy, every particle in his body focused on the velvety feeling of her lips on his. He held her slender body hostage, caged between his hands on the door as he leaned in and dipped his head to further invade her mouth and cut off any possible escape. The depth and force of which was indicative of his anguished desire to seize her imagination and influence her judgement.

It felt like a lifetime of shifting tongues and clashing lips, but eventually, after what must only have been only a matter of seconds, Darcy's fervour cooled enough for his awareness to return. With it came his trepidation and he ended the kiss gingerly, stepping back for good measure. He was not disappointed by the strength of her reaction and the hand that came out to once again strike him was bearing its claws. Her nails did not break the skin, but angry red lines bloomed down his cheek.

"You have spared me the guilt I might have felt in striking you, if you had responded in a more gentlemanlike manner."

He did not answer, or react with more than a wince. She was right, he knew she was. He gazed down at Elizabeth, in the dawning awareness that he was losing her, all armour abandoned, and his unguarded expression stopped the vitriol in her throat.

She was contemplating his eyes, so full of remorse and longing- and regret- then his nose, long and noble, slightly aquiline, and finally his lips, not overly full, but more than capable, she had just learned.

He had kissed her. Whatever his effrontery in doing so, he had given her her first kiss; her first and probably her last- she had to agree with him there. She knew that her criteria for marriage were unrealistic and uncompromising, and that she may be experiencing the only romantic moment in a long and barren life. He had given her a gift and she had attacked him for it.

Elizabeth thought of their previous activities and a cog clicked into place in her mind. She fully understood now that she had experienced but a fraction of what could be between a man and a woman, and that perhaps she would never have another occasion to do more.

She leapt at Mr. Darcy, pressing her lips to his and almost climbing him in her zeal to eliminate all distance between them. How could she not? This was her opportunity, her only prospect for intimacy and she must take it. She could not allow her scruples, or hurt pride to deter her from the pursuit of knowledge by satiating her desire.

She knotted her hands in his hair, clinging to him like a drowning cat. This kiss was different from the first, where Darcy had moulded their lips together through the sheer force of his will; he had allowed her no independence, given her no respite, no option to evade him. Now, he was the hesitant party, confused by her reaction and afraid of scaring her away. She was inexperienced, and so a little clumsy, but she experimented with his lips, sucking, licking, even gently biting, in the vacuum that his consternation had left.

A stinging nip to his bottom lip awoke him from his astonishment. As his awareness was rekindled, he came alive around her, deepening their kisses and clutching her to him; this time with her acquiescence- her enthusiasm.

Soon, their movements were harmonised- bodies exploring and undulating- but their intentions were not. Darcy attempted to pour all of his love and penitence into every caress, whereas Elizabeth was motivated purely by lust- lust and panic- both of which he could detect. He grew frustrated, despite her being so willing and so close. He wanted her, but could not quiet his misgivings.

Cursing himself, he broke their kiss with one parting graze of her lips, savouring what he knew may be the last he would ever have with his beloved. She was still kissing him, even as he moved to hold her back at arm's length, rejoicing in her reluctance to part. He stared at her, willing her to tell him what he needed to hear. Her efforts to continue rebuffed, Elizabeth felt more unfulfilled than she could ever remember, and her frustration led her to be unkind.

"To think that I was concerned you would try to seduce me! I need not have worried, since I see you obviously cannot bring yourself to do it."

Elizabeth had slighted Mr. Darcy's virility, his mettle, but worst of all, she had insinuated that his feelings for her were less fervent than he had claimed. Darcy bent low, utterly confusing her, and she shrieked as he quickly grasped her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, her round derriere on display. She attempted to raise her head from her upside down position and look around, berating him all the time. She tried to strike him, but her position made it challenging and the only accessible piece of him was his tight bottom, which she thought may give entirely the wrong impression.

By this time he had opened the door and was heading for the stairs. When she recognised his likely destination, Elizabeth realised that the situation was beyond her control and began a new round of kicking and wailing, to which Darcy only responded with a hefty smack on her rump. When he reached the top of the stairs, which he had ascended as if she weighed nothing, he had also reached the limit of his knowledge of the house. On a punt, he went for the door directly across from him and was about to turn the handle when Elizabeth called out.

"No, Not that room! On the right." Why she had guided him, she did not know, but Elizabeth's heart thumped in her chest as Mr. Darcy opened the door to her bedroom. He briefly glanced around, and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed, standing back and throwing his hat onto the dresser. He glared down at her with agitated eyes, his chin thrown up in that expression of aggrieved indignation she knew so well.

Darcy was waiting, she knew; waiting for her to attack him for his profligate behaviour, but she did not. She may have kicked and railed, but now that he had put her down she felt the lack of his grasp. She would not be the one to turn away. If he wanted to back out of this, he would have to be the one to do so. She raised herself from her prostrate position on the bed to rest back on her elbows and crooked an eyebrow in challenge. He did not move, though he was enthralled.

Elizabeth did not know where her courage or recklessness came from, but she very slowly and seductively (she hoped) opened her legs. Her skirts tented over the gap in between covering her secret place, but Darcy knew well enough what was within and her seduction had the desired effect.

Quick as a dart, he crossed the room and grabbed her by the ankles so fast that she was thrown down on her back. He pulled her forward to the edge of the bed and in doing so her dress rode up. He released it from its catch over her knees and tossed her gathered skirts from him dismissively; all the while he stared hungrily into her sex.

There she was, laid out for his perusal. And still he did nothing, but held her legs open and gazed at their moist source. He missed Elizabeth's impatient glare in his direction. However, when she further spread her legs and the pink inner flesh behind her plump lips peeked into view, Darcy took notice. He dropped to his knees and leaned forward immediately to devour her. The frantic movements and the thrill of their mundane surroundings amplified Elizabeth's pleasure. She lay back, spreading her legs as far as she could.

She loved the feeling of a man's head buried in her notch as much as she had the first time. She enjoyed Darcy's tongue on her pearl, the rays of the setting sun on the counterpane beside her and the feeling of assurance and desirability she received, knowing now how very much he wanted her. He had her coming apart within five minutes and this time she made no bones about clutching his head to her and forcing his attentions deep inside her.

Darcy had not looked up from his task once and, when he was done, he raised himself stiffly off of his knees, backed away to his spot by the wall and began twisting his signet ring in agitation. This combined with his ruffled appearance gave him a wild, abandoned air that was most bizarre. The mood remained heavy and tense.

When Mr. Darcy did not make any other move, Elizabeth goaded him, "Is that all, Sir?" a cheeky smile on her face.

Mr. Darcy was not amused. "Don't look at me in that way. You do not realise the danger you are in." His voice was low and strained and he attempted to look away, but could not take his eyes off of her, her glistening pussy still on exhibition.

His warning served to check Elizabeth momentarily. She considered what it was she was doing: she was dallying with a man whom she had no intention of marrying, contrary to every rule or principle of propriety, trying to spur him into compromising her. The insults she would suffer, if it were known! She would be a pariah from all society. And if they went any further, she would be physically ruined- spoiled for any man who might come after.

But then again, she would probably never marry. When she looked into the future, she saw only a dark abyss stretching out before her: she would have to live on sacred memories, stored up like a squirrel in winter. If this be the case, why should she save herself? Who or what was she saving herself for? This may be her one opportunity, before entering a lifetime of service or dependence, to experience that privilege, which would most properly usher her into womanhood. She made up her mind like the crack of a whip and would not now be deterred. Now it was only left for her to assure Mr. Darcy of her conviction.

"I do not claim to know much about what follows, but I do know enough to say that the act is not complete. Do you not wish for your own relief, Mr. Darcy?" His eyes widened. _Is she suggesting what I believe she is?_

He delayed his response by removing his coat and hanging it over the back of a chair in the corner. He was unsure whether she was really consenting- whether she was capable of consent, sheltered gentlewoman that she was. _Amorous congress_ , she would probably call it and he was certain that she would have no idea what she was talking about.

He left on his waistcoat and walked cautiously towards the bed, unbuttoning his cuffs as he did so. He continued to scowl, trying to discourage her, and had expected her to flinch at the physical reality of a union between them; but she was still looking up at him, appreciatively, he thought, which caused him to stand taller and roll his shoulders slightly, finally allowing himself to consider that this may happen.

He felt uncomfortable- thought that this was a poor notion- but how could he refuse her. She was allowing him to possess her physically, to mate with her: the most primal method of claiming a woman. He could not eschew this opportunity. It may be a meaningless experience, without her love, but where Elizabeth Bennet was concerned, he could not prevent himself from acting in contradiction to his principles, his better judgement and even his own self-interest.

His knees, by now, were against the base of the bed, and when he climbed onto it, she shifted into a lengthwise position. Darcy kneeled over her on his hands and knees, his shoulders and arms holding him up powerfully as he enjoyed the anticipation of the carnal act; Elizabeth had the sensation of becoming a cat's next meal.

He was still not touching her, but his hands were on either side of her waist. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice deep and quiet and his whole demeanour, unexpectedly warm.

Elizabeth replied that she was, with more poise than she felt. She was determined, yet the reality of it, the unknown, illicit act perturbed her. She knew there would be pain.

He rose up to sit back on his heels and reached for her feet. Her delicate slippers slid off in his grasp to be thrown aside. He was still at war with himself, but as his body went through the motions, he found his mind was dragged along with it. He took her compact foot in his hand, her toes curling as his light grasp tickled her sole. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it delicately, before travelling down her ankles and inner calf with feather-light kisses.

By the time he had released her foot back and positioned himself between her legs, she had relinquished all control to him and lay limply on the bed. He was kneeling before her and gently revealed her quim, pushing her knees towards her chest. He undid his fall, adjusting his shirt tails to take a hold of his cock **(1).** Elizabeth watched him as best as she could, from her position on her back, but both her clothes and his, as well as her languid state, colluded in thwarting her from getting a clear view. Her attention was returned from his body to her own, when she felt him place his tip at her lips: a warm, smooth sphere pressing into her entrance.

Darcy looked up, meeting her startled and nervous gaze with an enquiring one of his own. She nodded, giving him the reassurance he needed and he eased himself into her tight cleft, as far as her barrier. Neither looked away, the gaze of each encouraging the other. In the throes of both blissful pleasure and surprising discomfort, Mr. Darcy pushed deliberately through Elizabeth's maidenhead to fill her a little more. She did not make a sound, but her face spoke eloquently of her agony, her eyes pleading with him to alleviate her pain.

He withdrew somewhat and waited a moment, before sinking further into Elizabeth's beckoning walls. He tried to hold back, but he was almost trembling now and she felt so good. Darcy climbed up over Elizabeth, without pulling out of her, and could not prevent himself from ramming into her as he lay on top of her, stopping only when he had reached his end and hers. Darcy groaned in pleasure, but Elizabeth hissed beneath him and he was reminded of her discomfort. He froze above her.

She was glad of it at first. The raw sting of his intrusion ebbed- thankfully- and as the seconds passed, Mr. Darcy's only movement was his laboured breathing and his pounding heart, which she could feel through their connected chests. His head rested in the crook of her neck. He had nestled himself there and closed his eyes, just enjoying the warmth of her body and holding himself as still as he could. Elizabeth's hands were flat on the bed as she submitted to Darcy's invasion. As she adjusted to his presence inside her, an urge, an inexplicable need for friction built within her. She placed her hand on his back, trying to convey her readiness, but he merely twitched his cock at her touch. She could feel it moving.

 _Mr. Darcy is inside me!_ The thought was ridiculous and yet indisputably true.

In a further effort to urge him on she ran both her hands down his silk waistcoat to round his pert buttocks and squeezed until Darcy was forced to move. He complied with her request, savouring the exquisite feeling and then tentatively moved again, this time at his own behest. When she did not object, he attempted to increase the speed and power of his thrusts. She did her best to disguise her agony.

"Do not grip so tightly, madam," he commanded after one such thrust wrung a whimper from her.

He had risen up a little on his elbows and was looking down at her with a slight, yet condescending smile. Elizabeth realised that her nails were gripping into his buttocks through his trousers and immediately released him, imagining she could feel them detaching from his flesh. Yet he did not move and his smile only widened exasperatingly.

"I was not referring to your hands," he finally elucidated. She was momentarily confused. Mr. Darcy raised a brow, waiting for the penny to drop. _But, I am not… Oh!_ The moment of her comprehension was obvious; Elizabeth coloured and could not meet his eyes. She turned her head away and huffed in annoyance at his arrogance and insensitivity. He chuckled at her embarrassment and buried his head in her neck once more, nuzzling it, as had proved so effective in the past.

"You are insufferable," she managed to say, but could not convey much poison behind her words given her current position. Her aggravation was making her tense and causing her to grip tighter still. Now that Darcy had mentioned it, Elizabeth could feel her bite clenching his member in a death grip **(2).** It was not unpleasant in itself, but any movement hurt. She closed her eyes, attempting to calm her temper. She concentrated on his ministrations; his tenderness, now, as he tried to soothe and coax her, his nose and lips whispering across her shoulder blade.

Sooner than she could have imagined, her muscles began to relax and Darcy's exploratory thrusts became more comfortable. His pace increased rapidly when he realised that she was finally ready for him and he soon fell into a pounding rhythm, all humour forgotten as he went about the serious business of fucking the woman he loved **(3).** He felt restricted by his waistcoat and starched cravat, but soon overcame his discomfort in the gratifying exertion- leaned into it- and the irritation came to add to his pleasure.

All thought or intent was now lost to the pair, as they came together with the relentless pace of animals in heat. Mr. Darcy's hips bucked freely into her and his torso was supported on Elizabeth with satisfying heft. Her vagina responded like a singing glass, producing succulent noises and plenty of fluid. The sounds emanating from Darcy involved strangled moans and unintelligible words of wonder and appreciation, which occasionally escaped him.

"Ugh… Your cunt is so tight!" was one of the few phrases she managed to decipher. His voice trailed off on the last word as he could no longer maintain the control necessary to speak. She smiled while his face was buried in her hair and there was no chance of his seeing it.

Suddenly he rose to his knees, still inside her, pulled out to the tip and drove deep into her once more. He had hit on an interesting spot and their groans came in unison, his low hers high- a spontaneous duet. He closed his eyes and tilted his head in carefree gratification, as he leisurely pushed in and out of her, and Elizabeth could hardly credit the satisfaction she received from the sight of him. Darcy lifted her ankles and moved over her once again, linking his elbows around the backs of her knees, in a position that pulled her buttocks slightly off the bed. He was directly above her, staring down at her whenever she chanced to look up. He bore down in manic fashion, pummelling her mercilessly and without restraint, as she urged him on with her moans; Darcy was really going to work now and neither could go much longer without completion.

Their breaths and utterances were not loud, but were close and intimate and the crunch of the gravel under a pair of feet in the courtyard could not compete for their notice. The bang of the knocker on a heavily closed door was more able to do so and they froze in a tangle of limbs and genitals when they heard it. Mr. Collins' grating voice could be heard in the vestibule and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's eyes met in mutual horror. She slapped him off of her and he unsheathed with a grunt. In careful and quiet panic, they both stood from the bed and grasped for a way to extricate themselves, while righting their apparel.

"You must leave! If they see you…"

"And how am I to do that," he interrupted, "unless you expect me to climb out of the window?"

Elizabeth did briefly consider it, but thought his falling and injuring himself on the descent would cause more problems than it solved.

"Under the bed. Make haste!" The thought could not have come soon enough, as Elizabeth heard the soft creak of her sister on the stairs. Luckily she remembered to grab Mr. Darcy's hat and coat and threw them at him, before stuffing his reluctant frame under the dust ruffle. When Kitty followed her soft knock into the room Elizabeth was sitting on the bed, a book in her hand acting as a limp alibi.

"Lizzy you are still up. I half expected you to be sleeping off your headache."

"I had no Mary to undo my stays," she spoke truthfully.

"Oh no, I should have thought of that before I left. I will loosen them now for you." Kitty was already moving towards Elizabeth, who could think of no reason to refuse. As she loosened the ties, Kitty chatted.

"There must be something going around: Mr. Darcy was taken ill, also. When he retired to his room, Lady Catherine was very sour. She basically threw us out. Oh I am not sorry the evening is over, though. I had thought Lady Catherine easier to take recently, but now I think it's just because you were there."

Elizabeth made some reassuring noises, willing her sister to leave before Mr. Darcy gave away his position. She did not believe he would do so willingly- though it would serve his purposes should they be forced to marry- his pride could not take the degradation of being found under the bed in a clergyman's guestroom. Furthermore, Elizabeth found it hard to believe that Mr. Darcy genuinely wished to marry her, even after he had just mounted her and declared himself in love.

Kitty was still talking: "I did think it strange that Mr. Darcy suddenly felt ill when he found out you were not there. You know, Lizzy, I've been thinking, since that odd toast he made at dinner: I think he favours you." She paused for Elizabeth to express her amazement and disbelief, which she endeavoured to pretend and convince her sister that she was mistaken. She was mortified at Mr. Darcy's hearing this, but Kitty would not give up the idea.

"I think he was sulking that you were not there. You never know Lizzy; you could be staying at Rosings Park the next time you visit! Just be sure to bring Colonel Fitzwilliam with you," she giggled.

"Oh Lord, just imagine," Kitty continued, delighted with her little joke. "Living with Mr. Darcy and holidaying with Lady Catherine. Perhaps Mrs. Darcy will not be so fortunate after all, no matter how many carriages she will have."

"I am quite of your opinion on the subject, Kitty." Elizabeth wanted to say more and she regretted saying that much, when she considered who was under the bed.

* * *

 **(1)** At this time many men (and women) didn't wear underpants. They just tucked their shirt tails under themselves as makeshift underwear.

 **(2)** Bite: a woman's genitals.

 **(3)** I actually had a bit of a dilemma, whether to use the word 'fuck' here. I think the word is very evocative, but thought that it wouldn't have been in use at the time (I heard somewhere it came from a WWII fighter plane). But some research showed that it was in use well before the 16th century. During the regency, it was actually declining in use (recorded, anyway) and would not become popular again until the 1960s.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Well, I'm back! I have edited and reposted the previous chapters if you would like to go back and re-read. There is no major change to the plot, but I feel like I've altered it a lot in little ways. This chapter felt odd to write, as it's the conclusion of the argument I posted months ago. I would recommend at least reading the previous chapter again, as it's a two part-er and I have gone back and changed it quite a bit- moved things around. Thank you to all the new readers and reviewers since I have last posted, and the past readers who have been so encouraging. I would particularly like to thank Myshlp and SixThings for their support. I'm oddly nervous, coming back after my months away, like the first time I posted, so be kind to me!

* * *

 **Recap:** (But you should go back and read chapter 14 first!) Due to an epidemic of scarlet fever, which kills Mr. Bennet and Mary, the oldest Bennet daughters' stay at Netherfield is extended. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional sexual relationship, before he leaves suddenly for London, frightened by the strength of his feelings for her and afraid that he will lose control and compromise her. After reconnecting with Mr. Darcy at Rosings, Elizabeth becomes alarmed by his attentions, fearing that he has some nefarious plans for her. He finally confronts her when she is alone at the parsonage and proposes. He is disbelieving of her refusal and they descend into an argument. This soon develops into a passionate, but angry kiss and they have sex for the first time in Elizabeth's bedroom. During the act, Kitty and Mr. Collins come home and Darcy must hastily hide under the bed from Kitty. He then hears the ladies disparaging him.

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

Eager to conclude their interlude, Elizabeth refused Kitty's offer of a bowl of caudle and pretended a few yawns to hasten her sister's exit. Kitty eventually did leave, and Elizabeth was careful to inform her of her fatigue and that she would be going directly to sleep **(1)**. She rose quietly to lock the door behind her sister and looked back to the bed, so seemingly quiet and undisturbed, wondering what would happen next.

The first sign of Darcy's emergence was in the form of his hat, flung up onto the bed in his fisted hand. The rest of him followed soon after, a little dusty and ruffled, but none the worse for wear; and finally, he was there- irrefutably and unescapably there- once again, as he twisted his battered hat in his hands. An awkward feeling pervaded, as the pair stood separated by the bed, and it was soon clear that they would not be continuing from where they had left off.

The words that Kitty had voiced and with which Elizabeth had so eagerly concurred could not have figured more prominently in the void between them, had they taken corporeal form. Darcy had never valued Kitty, had looked down on her as jejune and avoided her company. It had never occurred to him that she would feel a similar aversion towards him- that she had the right to- he now knew better. As for Elizabeth, her brief, dismissive agreement with her sister's opinions had finally shown Darcy, more than all her witty rejoinders, how little she truly thought of him; how hopeless his pursuit of her was. He would not be able to fuck her into loving him.

His attention was caught by the small bloodstain on the vacated bed, where Elizabeth had sat. Darcy contemplated that this maroon smudge was the only remaining evidence that she had- briefly- been his- that he had claimed her first. This was what men always wanted- to be the first pioneer on virgin territory, the first to plant that flag; but he had soon come to realise how hollow a victory it was to be first, how preferable it was to be last; only.

Darcy wanted to put all of this out of his mind and harrumphed onto the bed, boots and all, sitting with his back to the headboard. To Elizabeth's inquisitive look, he replied without grace, "I cannot leave until the Collins's retire to bed, unless you wish us to be caught and face the consequences."

The idea of being forced into marriage with this crabby man forced Elizabeth's acquiescence and she sat up gingerly beside him, leaving as much elbow room between them as possible. Seeing that she had offended him, and that he was feeling sorry for himself, she was determined to wait it out in silence. Her bare feet caressed the bed cover and she let her mind wander, to escape this stifling room.

Out of the blue, Mr. Darcy spoke, beginning gruffly, but he rapidly became tangled in a morass of embarrassment: "You know you need not worry about there being a child. The way we… I did not… It's called a 'dry bob' and conception is very unlikely **(2)**." Mr. Darcy was blushing more than she by the end of this speech, undermining the forbidding, affronted air he was eager to maintain.

"Quite honestly, I had not even considered it," Elizabeth replied, feeling very unworldly to admit it, "I am still in a state of astonishment." Darcy could not prevent himself from searching her face, as she clearly re-lived their coupling. He was eager to determine her feelings, desperately hoping that she had enjoyed their dalliance and that - despite his prior, eavesdropped, intelligence- it could lead to more. What he wouldn't give for her to smile on his efforts to please her.

Elizabeth was not eager to further analyse their tryst and, shaking off the memories of his warm weight on her and grunted assurances in her ear, lapsed again into silence. Both retreated to their own thoughts for some minutes.

Mr. Darcy's mention of Wickham came as a surprise to Elizabeth, he being the last person on her mind at that moment. Darcy, however, could not, once reminded of Elizabeth's friendship with the cad, leave the topic alone.

"I do not know to what degree it will pain you to hear it," he began, "but you ought not to trust Mr. Wickham's assertions. He is a scoundrel."

"Mr. Wickham says the same of you," Elizabeth rapidly responded, unable to curb the ghost of a complacent smile on her face.

Darcy was more than irritated that she would not accept him at his word, but demurred to say more, not knowing what he should reveal. Elizabeth's antagonistic demeanour did not invite confidence.

"Will I never be free of that man's malicious interference?" He spoke mostly to himself, but Elizabeth responded, in spite of her recent resolution not to engage with him on this topic.

"You need not blame him, exclusively, for my opinion of you. Had not my own feelings decided against you- had they been indifferent, or even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

Mr. Darcy started at this and looked around him as if grasping for meaning. "What nonsense is this? What sister?"

"I am speaking of Jane, of course! You spirited Mr. Bingley away to London and she was left to the ridicule of the neighbourhood for her disappointed hopes."

"And, of course, I am responsible for your sister's happiness!"

"Do you deny separating them?" Elizabeth asked.

"I brought Bingley to London with me, if that is what you mean."

"And saw to it that he had given her up before reaching Barnet, I'd wager."

"I did no such thing! You have a very low opinion of me indeed, madam, if you think I would separate two people, merely for my own convenience."

"However," he continued, "my words to you at Netherfield were the truth. I could see that your sister turned to him in grief and, as for Bingley himself, I have seen him in love many times before; he did seem to show a preference for Miss Bennet, but it does not surprise me that he didn't return to the neighbourhood."

At Elizabeth's huffing breath, he was urged to explain himself further.

"Would you blame your sister's broken heart on me for the iniquity of requesting a riding companion? You give Mr. Bingley too little of either credit or blame, I think, in such an analysis."

"Do you claim to have had no part in his remaining in London? I cannot believe that you were as silent on my family's unsuitability with him as you were verbose with me."

"I did not raise the topic," he replied tersely.

"A fine evasion, Mr. Darcy."

With a sigh, he recognised that he must be completely honest. "We did discuss the matter, but it was only once and at Bingley's behest. I understand that his sisters had been pressing the topic and he requested my advice. I reiterated my opinion, as I had previously presented it to you, but I didn't try to persuade him of any particular action."

"You didn't tell him that Jane was an unsuitable wife for him?"

"No, I did not. She, in herself would make an admirable wife." That flare of jealousy, almost forgotten, now flickered momentarily in Elizabeth's mind, on hearing even this faint praise. _Did he linger a moment too long on the word 'admirable'?_

"In any case," Darcy continued, "I don't believe that that was Bingley's reservation. Even your family's improprieties were nothing to the belief that Miss Bennet was indifferent to him- of which his sisters' had convinced him."

"And you told him of your good opinion of Jane, of her love for him?" Elizabeth asked, knowing that her hope was pointless.

"No I did not, not the latter."

"But you know that it's the truth! Jane loves Mr. Bingley." Elizabeth was about to elaborate on her disappointment in the strongest language, which Mr. Darcy prevented by resuming his explanation.

"I had never had it from the lady's lips, or your own, and I had not observed as much of her behaviour towards him as Bingley had himself. It wasn't my place to assure him of opinions of which I was not certain and sentiments which he was in a better place to judge."

"How could you not have been certain? I spoke to you of Jane's devastation should Mr. Bingley leave. You saw her with him. Anyone could have seen what was between them."

"You spoke of expectations, of intentions, never of love. As for my observation of your sister, I saw nothing that I have not observed in many a London coquette; nothing indicative of love. That was when I was observing her… I was much preoccupied at that time," Mr. Darcy concluded quietly, looking down at his hands.

"But could you not have…" Elizabeth began. Mr. Darcy interrupted her shortly, tired of this going around in circles.

"Contrary to what you may believe, men don't sit around endlessly discussing ladies' intentions and the meaning behind fluttering eyelash. We do not divulge our intimacies: for which you should be thankful. Do you think that Mr. Bingley would wish for a sister in law such as you?" His words felt like a punch in the stomach to Elizabeth. Darcy was hit with the realisation that he had just called the woman he loved a whore. The notion horrified him and he was desperate to retract his words.

Elizabeth was left heaving in indignation, once more floored by his spiteful remarks. "If I am so contemptible, Sir, why would you wish to marry me? I am not shocked by your exclamation, for it's merely the latest in a long line of alternately veiled and candid insults. You have accused me of being everything from a fortune hunter and a wanton, to an out and out harlot."

Darcy could not believe that he had attacked her yet again. He grabbed a fistful of his lustrous curls in each hand and tugged savagely. In remorse and frustration, he spoke from this position: "I apologise; that was unforgiveable. I am aware that I have not always been kind to you, but that is not my true opinion of you. You… provoke me and I find myself lashing out."

Elizabeth's cool demeanour belied the fury boiling within her. "Perhaps you will now own that I did not and could not anticipate a proposal from you, with such outbursts as these. I didn't comprehend your intentions, even once you had begun to speak!"

Darcy had sat up to listen, carefully it seemed, but ignored her last statement in his response. "As regards my belief in your being a fortune hunter," he said, with all the formality of a pre-prepared speech at a school debate, "it was not unreasonable to think that you might seek to entrap me into matrimony through a liaison- which fear is the best deterrence from that vice- I confess, had I comprehended your disgust for the institution, you may not have survived your first night under that roof." His stare was intense and unwavering, but she was unmoved by his passion.

 _I am not disgusted with the institution, merely the proffered partner,_ Elizabeth thought acerbically.

"But all of that was before I really knew you," Darcy continued, oblivious to Elizabeth's resentment, "before I recognised your innate integrity."

Quietly, she inquired, "Then what's changed now?" gesturing to the bed in reference to their actions within it.

"My intentions are honourable; it's you who is misusing me. I would still marry you in the morning." He sought to meet her eyes, moving his head slightly to do so, but she couldn't look at him, aware of the edge of melancholy and lingering self-pity in his voice.

She was saved from having to construct a reply by the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Collins in the vestibule downstairs. Soon the creak of floorboards hailed their ascent to bed and the parade was completed by the definitive closing of Kitty's bedroom door. Elizabeth had not stirred, staring into space as she ruminated on Mr. Darcy's words. She dismissed his self-pity as beneath her attention, but he was right: she had used him from the beginning, for her own pleasure, without a thought as to his desires, or any other need. He had treated her badly, but she had chosen to continue their arrangement out of selfishness. She considered her own frustrations and contemplated that his must be manifold, unsatisfied as he surely had been after their encounters. She felt herself softening towards him.

Elizabeth had many flaws, but she could not comprehend such a major fault in herself, without seeking to atone for it. She felt the mounting need to apologise for her part in their sordid affair, to admit to her self-centredness, but could not show such weakness to this man, sensing that to give him such power would be dangerous.

Instead she leaned towards him- he seemed to have been watching her, as he was immediately at attention. His eyes implored her and she felt not a trifling measure of satisfaction to know that she was about to reach out in a way that could not fail to be acceptable to him. She continued to tilt into him. His eyes moved to her lips and followed their progress towards his, only returning to meet her gaze as she delivered a delicate kiss, so gentle and gradual, that the exact moment of connection could not easily be determined. Elizabeth shifted into the vicinity of his body, placing a palm on his chest and allowing herself to enjoy his smell, so familiar and invigorating. Their actions evolved into a compassionate embrace, one that would be so jarringly halted by Mr. Darcy's pulling away from her a moment later.

Elizabeth had slid down in the bed, and, when she grasped his shoulder and drew him towards her, he knew what it was that she was requesting. Darcy moved over her, his hands around her, and he caressed her leisurely in that sensitive spot just underneath her breast, never releasing her reassuring gaze as he explored her with his lips and hands, and for one delicious moment, it seemed they would continue their coupling, and that this time they would share a more tender experience. Darcy put a stop to all of this, however, and disentangled himself with lightning speed, leaving Elizabeth reeling in a miasma of breathless frustration and perplexity.

Struggling to regain his composure he turned and sat upright on the side of the bed, his head in his hands, his back and shoulder muscles flexing and tightening. Eventually Darcy rose from the bed and turned to her.

"I believe I am well enough acquainted with your obstinacy to say that is not a signal of your change of heart. However, I cannot go on without asking you whether… whether it is possible that you have, or could reconsider." To even ask the question was killing him, and he could almost not bear to hear her answer.

Elizabeth righted herself on the bed again and began to speak without looking Darcy in the eye. Unlike her previous iteration of her refusal, she would take no pleasure now in the opportunity to tell Darcy what she thought of him. "I know that I have misjudged your intentions in some respects, but," and here she brought her eyes to his, bolstered by the strength of her conviction, "you remain the most arrogant and censorious man of my acquaintance. You claim to love me, but you have never shown it. You openly insult and belittle me at every opportunity and if you had any respect for me, you would never have started this dalliance, or gone so far as you did. I could never allow myself to marry a man with such a poor impression of me."

"And this is your opinion of me!" cried Darcy, before remembering where he was and lowering his voice. He walked in quick steps across the room. "This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. And yet you were willing, just now, to act as you would with only a most intimate partner- to continue, after you knew I…"

"If I have behaved less than gentlemanly towards you…" He breathed heavily out of flared nostrils as the thought clearly pained him. "If I did take advantage of you, you have repaid me in kind. You are by now fully aware of the extent of your influence over me and you have, over the length of our acquaintance, used that knowledge to get exactly what you want, to gratify yourself; and I have no doubt that you would continue to do so, if I allowed it. I can tell you now: after today, I will never see you again, if I can help it."

With that they both were silent, both brooding. He rounded the bed and took one last look down at her, his expression striving for disdain, but he could not prevent the pain from slipping through. He reached for the doorknob and exited silently. Elizabeth listened on tenterhooks until she saw him stomping up the rectory path.

* * *

The next morning, after a very fitful and restless night, Elizabeth braved her habitual walk, though neither the exercise, nor the bracing breeze offered much relief from her tumultuous feelings. She was unconsciously proceeding directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy's often coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane, which led her further from the turnpike-road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side.

She had arrived in Kent at a time when changes were becoming evident, even over so short a period, and every day was adding to the verdure of the early trees. After walking farther down that part of the lane than she ever had before, she was tempted by the pleasantness of the morning to stop at a gate and look into the estate. She scaled the it, intending to pass a moment in a sort of grove which edged the park, having noticed an interesting feature in the landscape: a stream, seemingly springing from the roots of a mature oak tree. She was bent, trailing de-gloved fingers in the cool stream when the glimpse of a gentleman standing by the line of trees caught her eye and stole her breath. She had begun her automatic retreat to the gate when he called her name.

Indeed it was not Mr. Darcy, as she had feared, but his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he was walking towards her. By now she had backed up as far as the gate and had taken a crushing hold on the rusted iron there. Coming to stand beside her, he said, with a look of some confusion, she thought, due to her anxious demeanour, "Miss Bennet, I have been walking the park for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading this letter?"

On witnessing Elizabeth's dubious countenance he elaborated, "I am here on an errand from Mr. Darcy. He has not divulged the contents of this letter, but was most insistent that you receive it and that the information contained within was pertinent to you."

He was acutely aware of the impropriety of the whole situation and how uncomfortable Elizabeth must feel. For no other person on earth would he commit such an act, other than Darcy. He could not, however, honour his cousin's request of handing over the letter and leaving directly, not when presented with Miss Bennet's distressed countenance.

"I do not pretend to know what is going on between you and Darcy; nor do I wish to, by the way." His doubtful and troubled expression could not fail to charm Elizabeth, even in such a situation.

"But it is clear to me that you are not at ease with the state of affairs," he continued more seriously. "I cannot leave without asking if there is anything that I can do for your comfort or convenience. I would not see you discomfited, even for the sake of my cousin."

Elizabeth assured him of her well-being, convincing neither with her performance. The Colonel could not give up his inquiry.

"Darcy is as closed mouthed as you on the subject. This cloak and dagger is most unlike him. He is not one to dally with… he is an honourable man. I would not perform this office for him were I not convinced of his good intentions. I begin to believe that he… But I will say no more."

He offered to escort her back to the parsonage, but Elizabeth could spare no attention for pleasantries and dismissed him with as much courtesy as she could, eager to read her letter and savour, once again, the delights of loathing Darcy. She did not for a moment consider that it would contain an apology or peace offering. Seating herself on one of the giant, gnarled roots exposed next to the water, she broke the seal and to her still-increasing wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, written quite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full.

It was dated from Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning and began as follows:

 **Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to you.**

Her initial expectation confirmed, Elizabeth could not prevent her eyes from rolling at the self-indulgent and acrimonious tone of his opening, sorely tempted now to throw the remainder in the river unread and watch it wash downstream and away forever.

She skimmed through the opening paragraph to arrive at the substance of the letter- _what did he want!_

 **Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge, and my character requires this letter to be written and read. The first-mentioned was, that, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, I ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham- and the other, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I helped to detach Mr. Bingley from your sister, through my unwillingness to influence him in her favour.**

Elizabeth's attention was now arrested by the information in the letter and she read it through in one sitting before running home in distress and distraction.

Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam left Kent the next day. By the time she noted their coach trundling down the road outside, Elizabeth had read and thrown down Mr. Darcy's letter too many times to count. She had folded and unfolded it until the creases in the paper were entrenched and threatening to detach, though she had never managed to crumple it into a ball or throw it into the fire- as much as she had wished to.

Though chiefly concerned with the ignominy of Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy had briefly touched on the issue of Jane's disappointment and his part therein, clarifying and elaborating on that which they had canvassed the night before. At first, she could allow him no justice on either score, but was soon disappointed to find that she believed his account of Wickham in its entirety. His defence with regards to Jane, an issue he was inclined to minimise, was the more difficult for Elizabeth to accept.

Elizabeth was fated to spend another fortnight in Hunsford, which was punctuated by more of Mr. Collins' bumptious civility and the intermittent company of the residents of Rosings. She left behind a tearful Kitty, whose distress at losing her sister's support was slightly ameliorated by the novelty and charm of Elizabeth's late wedding present of a clutch of pullets **(3)**. Elizabeth's own departure was a relief, but she did not altogether relish the thought of reuniting with Jane, bearing in mind all of the knowledge and experience that must further the gap between them.

* * *

 **(1)** Caudle was a warm drink/broth of oatmeal, mild spices, water and wine or ale.

 **(2)** Coitus interruptus was the main method of birth control at the time (though some used a natural sponge soaked in lemon or vinegar that would be inserted before sex). As for its effectiveness, if used accurately, it has a similar success rate as the male condom, apparently. _Stone Laurance, The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500- 1800 (1979); Publications-and-Resources/Quick-Reference-Guide-for-Clinicians/choosing/Coitus-Interuptus_

 **(3)** Pullets are young hens that have not begun to lay. Egg money was a source of independence for women in Kitty's situation. She could make up to 3 pounds a year from her flock of chickens and have some financial independence. _. /egg-money/_


	16. Chapter 16

**Recap:** Due to an epidemic of scarlet fever, which kills Mr. Bennet and Mary, the oldest Bennet daughters' stay at Netherfield is extended. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional tactile relationship, before he leaves suddenly for London, frightened by the strength of his feelings for her. After reconnecting with Mr. Darcy at Rosings, Elizabeth becomes alarmed by his attentions. He finally confronts her when she is alone at the parsonage and proposes. He is disbelieving of her refusal. Their argument soon develops into a passionate, but angry kiss and they have intercourse for the first time in Elizabeth's bedroom. During the act, Kitty and Mr. Collins come home and Darcy must hastily hide under the bed from Kitty. He there hears the ladies disparaging him and he and Elizabeth argue again once Kitty leaves. They fight over Wickham and Darcy's involvement in Bingley leaving Netherfield. Darcy accuses Elizabeth of using him to satisfy her baser urges and she begins to feel sorry for this. Her attempt at apology, however, devolves into another kiss. Darcy refuses to continue until he can clarify her feelings for him. She is blunt in her dislike of his haughty behaviour and he leaves declaring he will never see her again. He has Colonel Fitzwilliam deliver a letter to her the next day in which he explains his involvement with Wickham and Bingley. The pair leaves the next day and Elizabeth leaves Kent a fortnight later.

 **Chapter 16**

Elizabeth collected Jane from Gracechurch Street, much to the annoyance of their mother who would have her remain. Jane, however, was firm in her determination to leave London, and Elizabeth soon learned why: she had seen nothing of Mr. Bingley and just enough of his sisters to know that her hopes of encountering him there were pointless. She now wanted to leave the site of her humiliation as soon as may be.

Mrs. Bennet, having heard of the improvement in Kitty's circumstances was delighted that her scheme had worked out so well and, after only a few indiscreet queries, was soon content to give up the topic.

Jane's first few days back at Longbourn were marked by her disinterest in anything other than moping over her needlework, or mooning at the window seat. This she did to the constant refrain of Mrs. Bennet's dirges, lamenting the escape of Mr. Bingley (whose loss she evidently felt much more than that of her own late husband; though he too was often mentioned as being to blame- somehow- for Bingley's perfidy). Jane clearly suffered under her mother's affectionate succour, but Elizabeth felt that there was a certain satisfaction to be had in the whole family sharing the weight of her disappointment- one that Jane did not entirely appreciate.

She was only now coming out of the fog of Mr. Darcy's propinquity and knew no better how to feel about her sojourn in the shadow of Rosings Park. Her mind was constantly whirring, spinning out of control: the same debates raged on; bubbled so close to the surface that she had to stop herself from crying out in the middle of the drawing room against the injustice of her alter ego's accusations.

She despised Mr. Darcy and herself intermittently and in equal measure. At other times, she blamed third parties, happy not to have to consider either of their actions at all: she blamed Kitty for marrying- for bringing her to Hunsford, Lady Catherine for her condescension, which put her into Mr. Darcy's path once again, and Mr. Collins for existing at all. Even the most innocent of participants did not escape her censure, Bingley and Jane, among the casualties.

Her insomnia returned; had begun even at Hunsford, in those last days when she was forced to spend interminable hours regarding the same four walls within which Mr. Darcy had occupied her and left her **(1)**. Jane was not in a sufficiently attentive frame of mind to notice Elizabeth's distress- compassionate as she generally was- and this manifestation of her sister's suffering was the final push for Elizabeth to do what she had never thought possible or advisable. She would confide in Jane, as much to distract her sister as for her own comfort.

This was not achieved immediately on her having the notion. She awaited the opportunity for an uninterrupted interview with her sister, one in which any outbursts of shock would go unwitnessed, and this did not come for several days. Lydia and Mrs. Bennet being absented on some business or other that would take several hours, Elizabeth convened with her sister in their bedroom. She slowly and painfully, not to mention disjointedly, told Jane of the entire affair between her and Mr. Darcy. She omitted only the most sordid details for the sake of her sister's modesty and suppressed every particular in which Jane was concerned. She was furious. Jane did not rant or scream, but her silence was thunderous and she did not speak to Elizabeth for the rest of the day.

* * *

Seated on the over-sized swing in a shaded area of the park, Elizabeth lazily propelled herself back and forth; her hands grasping the ropes, her only defence from falling as she dangled supine, studying the canopy above. They were, luckily, experiencing an uncharacteristically warm spell just now, which allowed Elizabeth to spend much of her time out of doors without suspicion. She was rapt in observation of the sunlight, twinkling as it penetrated the foliage in different patterns with every sway, when a quiet greeting nearly toppled her off the swing.

Mr. Wickham was standing in front of her. _Mr. Wickham._ He, oddly, had hardly figured in her thoughts since she had accepted Mr. Darcy's account of their acquaintance. This had happened soon after reading his letter, painful though it was. She could not initially believe a man so charming could commit this villainy against a girl little more than a child. And yet, it fitted. The account made sense and fond as she had become of the gentleman, she knew full well the dazzling effect of his charm and could not convince herself that any brother would implicate his young sister in such a scandal just to spite his former friend. No, she knew it to be true; and with this certainty, Mr. Wickham's treachery had dismissed him from her mind.

He was now eager to return to their former intimacy. She cared not if she ever spoke to him again. Mr. Wickham's presence now only brought Elizabeth shame at her lack of perspicacity.

"I must confess I am eager to hear your impressions of Rosings Park," he continued, after their initial greeting.

"It is very grand, though whether it could be described as elegant is another matter." Elizabeth answered dully, still deciding how to receive him.

"Much like the lady in residence, if I recall," Wickham replied jocularly. The anticipated warm response was not forthcoming and he was thrown off of his stride by the cold manner he now perceived in Elizabeth. She relished the resulting bewilderment on his face. She would love to work up her swing until she could boot him in the face and unconvincingly claim it as an accident.

Mr. Wickham, unused to ladies' derision decided to change tack and revert to the topic he had always found fruitful with Elizabeth.

"And her nephew, did he make himself agreeable?" He realised too late from her expression that desperation had made him reckless in bringing up the topic of Darcy so quickly and so bluntly, and he fancied, even without knowing the prior source of her knowledge, that Miss Elizabeth could see right through him.

"Mr. Darcy was there," she replied with more distinct hauteur. "But you know he does not often exert himself to please others."

"With a prior acquaintance, one with whom he spent weeks living in close proximity- in the same house- and a lady now recognised by his own aunt; I cannot believe Darcy would not in some way acknowledge you. I think also, you underestimate your appeal as a woman to any gentleman. You should be wary of being in such frequent company with Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth was shocked at his words, even given what she now knew about him.

"Mr. Wickham, you forget yourself. At what point did I give you leave to address me in such a familiar manner? We do not share an intimacy as might warrant this interest in my affairs, and your spurious insinuations are as dangerous as they are insulting."

Wickham could see that he had relied too heavily on their former camaraderie, that something was wrong here, and retreated to what he always did when a woman was becoming difficult- turning on the charm: "Miss Elizabeth, I apologise if I have been overly familiar. But I am very familiar with Mr. Darcy's proclivities. You should take care in his presence."

"Well you would know more about the appetites of reprobates than I, Mr. Wickham." Elizabeth implied.

"I meant no harm, Miss Bennet. I only speak for your benefit."

"Since I have met you, sir, you have shown an unnatural interest in my acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. I don't know why you do so, but I am certain that it is not for my benefit."

Elizabeth rose from the swing with dignity; she was becoming an expert at setting down men. Mr. Wickham felt he must offer her his arm in returning to the house, just as Elizabeth felt she must take it, but on reaching the vestibule, neither could leave the other fast enough.

* * *

Elizabeth's fury at Wickham had the unexpected effect of distracting her from her quarrel with Jane. That is, until she stormed up to her room and found her sister there. She had just turned to leave when Jane called to her- the first time she had approached her in days.

"No, wait. Don't go, Lizzy."

Jane patted the bed beside her and Elizabeth obliged her in taking a seat, oddly nervous to speak to her sister- not a feeling she would ever have associated with that happy room. She could not bring herself to levity as she might ordinarily have done, or even to speak first.

"Lizzy, I have wanted to speak to you about... well, you are well aware." Elizabeth did not reply other than to school her face to be as approachable as she could.

"I have been trying to understand, to comprehend what would make both you and Mr. Darcy act so contrary to both of your characters, I believe." Still Elizabeth could not speak. What could she say to justify her lasciviousness?

"You have always had a more inquisitive, adventurous personality, which goes some way to account for your actions, perhaps." Jane paused in an effort to encourage her sister's confidence.

Finally, Elizabeth compelled herself to speak, not sure even as she began what she could add. "I don't know what to say to you, Jane. I know that I have done wrong, but I can't lie to you. I have not been crushed by my guilt and, if the circumstances had been different- if Mr. Darcy and I had continued in close proximity and had he been willing- I may have continued our activities even yet."

Jane closed her eyes tightly at hearing such wickedness. "I cannot believe that you felt no remorse or ill-feeling whatsoever over your actions. You think that you have gone undetected, but I have noticed your withdrawal these past months. I simply credited it to Papa's passing away, but now I know better. Whatever you say about your actions, I know this has been weighing on your mind."

"And Lizzy, please tell me. I know you have said that you were a willing participant in your meetings, but I must ask: did Mr. Darcy prey upon you, or force you into this arrangement in any way?"

Elizabeth could see the dread in her sister's eyes. "The first time it happened was at his behest and against my wishes," Elizabeth began slowly, trying to sort it out in her mind. "That is to say, I hardly knew what was going on and then… I would say that he took advantage of my innocence on the subject."

This troubled Jane and she took a moment to consider what it meant for her opinion of Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth knew that it was important to her that Mr. Darcy not be lowered in her estimation- that her initial impression of his fundamental goodness be allowed to stand.

"I am very grieved to hear this; but you would suggest that he acted purely for his own gain. Did you not say that after that first time, he was reluctant to continue, that you tried to persuade him and he sent you away. This suggests that he regretted his actions then. When did he relent?"

"I believe it was after I fainted at Netherfield." Elizabeth replied.

"And did he force himself on you then?"

"No, not at all."

"You say he took advantage of you, but I don't think that that's entirely true, at least not at that time. He was misguided and certainly deluding himself about his own motives, but I think there was a part of him that wanted to help you. And clearly he is attracted to you. He is so reserved- perhaps he did not feel that he could connect with you in any other way."

That incident in the library at Netherfield seemed an age ago and time had lessened her shock and outrage over it. "I will admit that Mr. Darcy was not liable for the entire affair- I must be responsible for my own actions. I not only submitted to his attentions, but I even sought out and enjoyed them. We were equally accountable. I did continue the meetings when he would have ended it and ultimately it was he that put a stop to it, when he realised that my intentions were not honourable." Her lips curled at her own joke, but Jane did not smile.

"I wish you would not jest, Lizzy. Can you not see that you have treated him most cruelly and done yourself a disservice? You knew his feelings and yet you sought to continue your dalliance for personal pleasure, knowing the effect you had on him."

"Mr. Darcy has done wrong, very wrong" Jane reiterated, "but I pity him. He felt that you were developing an understanding and I don't think it was unreasonable that he expected you would accept a proposal: that you loved him. Consider how much it must increase his disappointment."

"How can you say that, Jane? I had never kissed him, or seen any affection- I had not even had an agreeable conversation with him before his proposal. As for my knowing he was in love with me, I am not convinced even yet, despite his claims.

"We spent most of our time bickering or in sullen silence. And besides, he had made his opinions on my marriageability quite clear. He has called me the most awful names at different times. You do not know him as I do and he is not the man you think him to be."

"I do not. I only know how kind he was while we were staying at Netherfield and it seems clear to me that he has feelings for you: he did ultimately propose to you. Do you think he would wish to marry a woman for whom he had no regard or respect? And he did wish to marry you- there was no other reason to compel him to propose after so long. That must be to his advantage. He did not seek to pressure you into becoming his mistress, as many men would. Much of his conduct may be explained by his natural shyness and by his fighting his feelings for you, which he himself posited as a reason for his behaviour."

"Indeed, I am heartily sorry for him," Elizabeth said, in attempted levity, "but he has other feelings which will soon drive away his regard for me."

"Lizzy," Jane admonished, "Did you never wonder why he acted as he did? Why he began your affair in the first place and sought to resume it in Hunsford?"

"I suppose I did, in passing, but I never wished to dwell on the matter. I always considered that he must get some perverse sense of satisfaction for being able to affect me in that way; and he certainly enjoyed lording it over me in coded remarks made in company. Perhaps it was just boredom."

"But there was once- we met in the woods and he was … elated. I did suspect that he was moved by the act, but that's still a long way from love. In truth, I had never cared to find out. I had known his feelings about our whole family and did not think he could love me in spite of all these objections."

"But he did."

* * *

After speaking with Jane, nothing material had changed. She still doubted Mr. Darcy's feelings, questioned her own, and condemned both of their behaviour. However, just the unburdening of her story had likewise lightened Elizabeth's heart. She realised that she had been blaming Mr. Darcy for losing her friendship with Jane, though it was her own choice to estrange herself from her family.

When she thought of Darcy's words mentioning her family, her sense of shame was severe. His criticisms were made in terms of such mortifying, albeit merited, reproach that she had of course revolted against his assessment when he had first expressed it some months ago. Somehow, it was all the more wretched in writing- when it was her and not Jane implicated in their shame. When she now had cause to rethink all that she had believed about Mr. Darcy, the justice of his charge struck her too forcibly for denial any longer. She thought back to circumstances witnessed by Darcy and shuddered.

The compliment to herself was not unfelt. His offering for her despite her family's indignity soothed, but could not console her for the contempt which they had rightly attracted.

That night as they lay in bed, candles snuffed and blankets tucked up around their chins, Jane spoke out.

"Lizzy, is there no hope that you and Mr. Darcy could reconcile?" she asked meekly.

"Oh, Jane. There is nothing to reconcile… You do not blame me for refusing him?"

"Blame you! Oh no. Do anything other than marry without love."

"But you do blame me for engaging his affections and refusing him so cruelly. And do you fault me for speaking so warmly of Mr. Wickham?"

"No, indeed. How could you have known he was so very bad?"

"Jane, tell me, what makes Mr. Wickham so very different from Mr. Darcy: they both seduced innocent young women."

"I know. And yet, they are different. Both did wrong, but Mr. Darcy has no guile. His actions were selfish and foolish, but he did not promise you anything he was not willing to give and he did do the right thing in the end. He was not mercenary, as Mr. Wickham apparently is, and he tried to help you, as well as satisfy his own desires. He did not seek to ruin you."

Elizabeth felt incapable of discussing Mr. Darcy's relative virtues in earnest. "You make him out to be the model of a gentleman!"

"No, Lizzy. Though I do believe that Mr. Darcy wishes to do what's right."

"Yes, I agree with you there. Whatever else I believe about the man, he clearly does wish to do right."

Just when Elizabeth thought that Jane had fallen asleep, she spoke again without preamble. "Could you, in time, find another man, a nice man to marry? Are you truly ruined?" She was almost whispering at this point.

"Utterly and irrevocably," was her sister's quiet response

in the dark.

* * *

 **(1)** To occupy a woman: sexual intercourse: wwdotjoannawaughdotcom/cant-dothtml


	17. Chapter 17

**Recap:** Due to an epidemic of scarlet fever, which kills Mr. Bennet and Mary, the oldest Bennet daughters' stay at Netherfield is extended (November 1811). Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional tactile relationship, before he leaves suddenly for London, frightened by the strength of his feelings for her (December 1811). After reconnecting with Mr. Darcy at Rosings, Elizabeth becomes alarmed by his attentions. He finally confronts her when she is alone at the parsonage and proposes (April 1812). He is disbelieving of her refusal. Their argument soon develops into a passionate, but angry, kiss and they have intercourse for the first time in Elizabeth's bedroom. During the act, Kitty and Mr. Collins come home and Darcy must hastily hide under the bed from Kitty. He overhears the ladies disparaging him and he and Elizabeth argue again once Kitty leaves. They fight over Wickham and Darcy's involvement in Bingley leaving Netherfield. Darcy accuses Elizabeth of using him to satisfy her baser urges and she begins to feel sorry for this. Her attempt at apology, however, involves another kiss. Darcy refuses to continue until he can clarify her feelings for him. She is blunt in her dislike of his haughty behaviour and he leaves declaring he will never see her again. He has Colonel Fitzwilliam deliver a letter to her the next day in which he explains his involvement with Wickham and Bingley. The pair leaves the next day and Elizabeth leaves Kent a fortnight later. Elizabeth and Jane both return home to Longbourn where Elizabeth tells her about her affair with Darcy. Jane is initially angry, but tries to see the problem from both sides. She is convinced of Darcy's love for Elizabeth, but Elizabeth is still sceptical. They have a conversation in bed at night, in which Jane, criticises Elizabeth's treatment of Darcy.

 **Chapter 17**

Elizabeth's thoughts, the next morning, could not be contained within the four walls of Longbourn and she spent hours roaming out of doors, sifting through all that had been said the day before. She had had plenty of time to contemplate her ruination; enjoyed wallowing in the finality of it. After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought: re-considering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself, as well as she could, to her actions, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her at length turn for home. Her feelings were ambivalent; she could not bring herself to completely regret her activities, but as long as there were no adverse consequences, and she was did not have to again confront the man involved, she would, she now decided, finally put it behind her. She soon entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful, and surprised herself in finding that she was so.

* * *

The next three months were spent in the usual pursuits of the season. Days were filled with gardening and cutting flowers when the weather was fine, and pickling cucumbers from the greenhouse, sewing, and conversation when it was not. Evenings were occupied with music and reading aloud from Mr. Bennet's fossilised library. With the blossoming of summer, Elizabeth found her spirits returning in a way that hadn't seemed possible since her father's death and Jane's exasperating solicitousness soon diminished. Though Elizabeth still occasionally felt the need to escape- to sit at her father's grave with a posy of flowers- she was not overwhelmed by it and the shroud, which had for so long separated her from her family, began to lift.

The Bennet daughters exited mourning in May, finally giving up the grey and lavender gowns to which they had been for some months confined. Lydia was delighted with this, and her sisters were happy not to witness her antics juxtaposed with her sombre attire. Mrs. Bennet had had enough of mourning too. She would not be left behind and six months of that was good enough in her opinion. Any little restraint in her social activities that she had still maintained, she abandoned altogether, along with her black dresses **(1)**.

The militia was still with them. They would remain later into the summer than was originally planned, having arrived after their time, and the town in general was delighted to have them. The officers were billeted in the inns of Meryton and the traders of the town welcomed the increase in commerce. Colonel Forster had not been remiss in recruiting only the most statuesque and handsome of youths **(2)** and the dashing young blades filled out their scarlet uniforms admirably, while fulfilling their primary responsibilities of attending to drills, dances and suppers- with only a trifle more weight placed on the former.

Lydia had been invited to join Mrs. Forster in their camp at Brighton later in the summer. She was desperate to go and Mrs. Bennet sympathised. Alas, even her undying optimism in the face of any possible amusement was dampened when Jane and Elizabeth took it upon themselves to elucidate the minutiae of the expenses required. After comparing them to their allowance for the quarter, Mrs. Bennet initially stood firm in her irrational belief that they could 'make do' at home for Lydia's sake. She was only convinced when Elizabeth questioned how Lydia would feel to be seen at a regimental ball, so visibly impoverished that she could not even afford to replace her soiled kid gloves. It could not be said that Lydia accepted her circumstances with any degree of grace, but she soon became desperate to wring every occasion for pleasure from the presence of the militia before they were to leave in August **(3).**

Elizabeth's life was about to gain some colour in the form of a tour of several counties in the North, culminating in an extended circuit of the Lake District. She was to be the companion of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner on their travels, which was very convenient as they were the only people, other than Jane, with whom she could possibly bare to spend six weeks together.

The time fixed for their departure was fast approaching when a letter from Mrs. Gardiner informed Elizabeth that their tour would at once be curtailed and delayed: they would have to content themselves with going no further North than Derbyshire. That word sent a jolt through Elizabeth on reading it- _ridiculous_. Was a whole county to be off limits because of one man living in it? No, she would not be intimidated! Surely she could slip in and look around without him being any the wiser. She was disappointed to lose out on seeing the Lakes, but it was her business to be satisfied, however, and Elizabeth soon contented herself with the thought that Derbyshire would have many beauties.

* * *

While her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham had undoubtedly cooled since their confrontation in the garden, she was not so reckless as to cut him directly: that would raise too many questions. So Elizabeth tolerated his presence, even allowed him to approach her on occasion, but they both knew the boundaries that had been set. Mr. Wickham never again mentioned Mr. Darcy in her presence; though, neither did he retract or refute the tales that he had told about town. Mr. Darcy was not well liked.

Another reason for keeping Mr. Wickham close was to distract him from Lydia, who was enamoured of the officer and bold in showing it. No amount of sermon-making or appeals to her good sense could curb Lydia's behaviour and Mrs. Bennet was deaf to all entreaties to intervene- Lydia deserved her fun while the regiment was in town, for who knew when they would see another? As long as Elizabeth was there to oversee their interactions, the threat of a lecture was the only deterrent from frivolity and flirtation, ineffective though it often proved to be.

On hearing that she was bound for Derbyshire, Mr. Wickham offered Elizabeth a stilted farewell, probably glad to be rid of her, and obviously wishing— but not daring— to comment on whom she might find there.

* * *

At length, Elizabeth's anticipation was satisfied and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner arrived with their four children, who were to be left under the particular care of Jane while their parents were away- an advantageous arrangement for all involved: Jane was in dire need of the distraction.

The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn, visiting with their sister, whom they had not seen since her bereavement, before the trio set off in pursuit of novelty and amusement. Elizabeth's enjoyment of the coming expedition would surely be multiplied by the cheerful company of two such agreeable companions.

Oxford, Bleinheim, Warwick and Kenelworth all delighted and were forgotten in that haze that holidays assume. One sight blurred into the next until, after a fortnight, the travellers could not recall more than half a dozen highlights, jumbled together, and were eager to settle in one town for more than a few days together. With this in mind, the Gardiners and Elizabeth bent their steps for Lambton, a little market town, once the residence of Mrs. Gardiner. Elizabeth went reluctantly once she learned that Lambton was within five miles of Pemberley.

Once situated in The Red Bull Inn, Mrs. Gardiner set to arranging their itinerary. She wished to visit a number of her acquaintances who, she had lately learned, still remained in the town, but she also expressed an inclination to visit Pemberley. Mr. Gardiner was perfectly willing and Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.

"My love, should you not like to see a place of which you have heard so much?" asked her aunt.

Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She owned that she was tired of fine houses, though had no reply when her aunt assured her of its delightful grounds and fine woods.

The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy while viewing the place, instantly occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea and thought that, as a last resource, it would be better to speak openly to her aunt than to run such a risk. Her aunt was set on the scheme, however.

As was Mr. Gardiner. He unwittingly aided Elizabeth at dinner, however, by asking the maid whether Pemberley were not a fine place and whether the family were at home for the summer. A most welcome negative followed the latter. Her alarms being now removed- and seeing no pressing reason to refuse, other than her own discomfort- when the subject was again raised the next morning, and she was again applied to, Elizabeth could readily answer with a proper air of indifference that she had not really any dislike for the scheme. And so to Pemberley she would go with, if not unadulterated enthusiasm, then at least a great deal of curiosity.

* * *

Elizabeth was all perturbation as they set out the next morning in their hired barouche-landau **(4).** She watched for the first appearance of the famed Pemberley woods and, when at length they turned into the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter. They entered at one of the lowest points and drove for some time through a beautiful wood, surrounded by mature trees and gnarled roots. Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable view and the carriage's open top presented it at its most pleasing in the summer sunshine. They gradually ascended for half a mile and then found themselves at a break in the trees on top of a considerable eminence. The eye was instantly drawn to the sight of Pemberley House in the distance. It was a large handsome building, standing well on rising ground, surrounded by wooded hills and, in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. An expanse of lawn around it accentuated the elegance of the architecture. Elizabeth was delighted. They were all warm in their admiration and at that moment, she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

They had descended the road towards the house, losing sight of it as they did so. The park was very large, containing a great variety of ground, and their carriage followed the lane onto open ground; their only interruption, the odd sheep in the road, free to roam before the ha-ha **(5).**

Now that they approached the house, all of Elizabeth's anxieties returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been mistaken and, as the carriage drew up towards the door, she expected every moment that the master of the house would burst through it and banish her from his estate.

They were admitted into the hall, by a pair of fresh-faced footmen- less imposing than those in Lady Catherine's employ, but less dour also **(6).** At length they were met by the housekeeper. Mrs. Reynolds was a brisk, older woman, much less fine and more civil than Elizabeth had had any notion of finding her.

They followed her into the dining parlour **(7).** It was a fine room, large and well-proportioned, and handsomely decorated. Elizabeth was drawn to the window, by the glint of the sun on the water and, while the others listened to Mrs. Reynolds' proud and sometimes edifying commentary, Elizabeth enjoyed the prospect. Every disposition of the ground was good and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight.

As they moved into other rooms- each connecting in a passage through the length of the house- the view altered and from every window there were beauties to be seen. Every frame showed a prospect that could have been composed by an artist **.**

The rooms were lofty and handsome, with furniture apposite to the rank of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of splendour and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.

She had not the courage to ask the housekeeper whether her master was at home, though she longed to. At length, however, the question was put by her aunt. Elizabeth turned away in panic, seeking refuge in the portrait of some no-doubt- exalted ancestor, in a frock coat and elaborate wig.

Her anxiety was allayed momentarily by the housekeeper's assurance that Mr. Darcy was not in residence, but peaked a moment later with the declaration that, "We expect him tomorrow, with a large party of friends." Elizabeth hardly knew whether to rejoice that they had not for any reason been delayed, or to agonise at the near thing it had been that she might have been seen by him, inspecting the contents of his father's study.

"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to a miniature among a collection, as she continued her patter, "is my master- and very like him it is too. It was drawn about eight years ago, when the late Mr. Darcy was alive."

Elizabeth could have confirmed the portrait's likeness to the original, had she wished to make known her acquaintance with the man, but she detected differences, also, between the current Mr. Darcy and that in the picture. His face had been rounder, more youthful, yet the serious mien for which he was known surrounded him even then.

"It is a handsome face. Is it much like the original, Lizzy?" asked Mrs. Gardiner looking at the portrait.

Mrs. Reynolds' respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation of her knowing her master.

"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth coloured and said- "A little," endeavouring not to betray how intimately she did know him.

Mrs. Reynolds' surprise on learning that Elizabeth was familiar with the master was matched only by her complacence when she asked "And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?"

"Yes, very handsome." She saw an image of that face, beaming up at her with a boyish smile and dimpled cheeks, while his hair stood out in all directions.

"I am sure I know none so handsome," Mrs Reynolds continued, "but in the gallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this."

Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.

"And this is Miss Darcy- in earlier years. She is now quite grown up and the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished! She plays and sings all day long. That is a new instrument in the corner, just come down for her. It is a present from my master; she comes here tomorrow with him."

Elizabeth had never really thought of Miss Darcy as a real person, but here, faced with her portrait and surrounded by her things, she began to imagine this girl, whom she had made presumptions about or dismissed, in turn; a girl whom Mr. Darcy must look upon as a surrogate daughter, as much as a sister. One he was very generous with, it seemed. Miss Darcy had had her own experiences with a man. Elizabeth wondered how her protective elder brother would feel had Wickham done half to his sister, what he had, to her.

Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were easy and pleasant, encouraged Mrs. Reynolds' communicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs Reynolds, either from pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.

"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?"

"Not so much as I would wish, sir."

"If your master would marry, you might see more of him," Mr. Gardiner prodded.

"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him." Elizabeth lowered her head at that moment, not willing to meet anyone's eye.

She could not, however, help saying a few moments later, "It is very much to his credit, that you should think so."

"I say no more than the truth, and what everybody will say that knows him", replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far, and she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, "I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old." Even taking this as hyperbole, it suggested an experience that was most opposite to her own ideas of the man. That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest belief and almost universal experience. Her keenest attention was now awakened; she longed to hear more, and was grateful to her uncle for commenting on Mrs. Reynolds' luck at having such a master.

"Yes, sir: If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. He was always the sweetest-tempered most generous-hearted boy in the world."

This was bordering on farcical to Elizabeth. And yet, she could not see even the most loyal servant painting her master in such a positive light- unsolicited- were she not truly fond of the man. _Could anyone be_ _fond_ _of Mr. Darcy?_ The idea seemed ludicrous to her. She could easily imagine him being respected, esteemed for his status and intelligence, but affection required some softness between the parties to germinate; openness and a sort of parity that she could not see Mr. Darcy admitting. And yet, this woman, showed every indication of caring for the man. Miss Darcy must be tolerably attached to him, also, if he were always spoiling her as Mrs. Reynolds suggested. And she had seen with her own eyes the esteem in which Mr. Bingley held his friend- esteem rooted in a mutual warm regard.

"His father was an excellent man", said Mrs. Gardiner.

"Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him-just as affable to the poor."

Elizabeth listened in wonder and was impatient for more, but Mrs. Reynolds had moved on, addressing the subjects of the pictures, the furnishings and the history of the house.

She was fortunate that Mrs. Reynolds and herself were of an accord on one matter, and by oblique inquiry, the housekeeper was led back to the subject that would most interest them both. She dwelt with energy on Mr. Darcy's many merits as the party proceeded up the great staircase.

"He is the best landlord and the best master," said she, "that ever lived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants, but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

This last raised an unexpected smile in Elizabeth. Indeed, whatever other faults he had, Mr. Darcy never did _rattle away._

"This fine account of him," whispered her aunt later "is not quite consistent with what we know of his behaviour." She was referring to Wickham's stories, with which Lydia had so kindly furnished her.

"Perhaps we might have been deceived, there," Elizabeth replied.

They were shown into a very pretty sitting-room, in the Chinese style, more light and elegant than the rest of the house, and were informed that it had been lately re-done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy.

"He certainly is a good brother," Elizabeth commented.

"And this is always the way with him, Mrs. Reynolds replied, "Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her."

Their tour was to conclude in the picture gallery. Each piece had a story that Mrs. Reynolds was happy to tell, but Elizabeth wanted none of theher famous artists and distinguished ancestors. There were a number of drawings of Miss Darcy's, however, whose subjects and artist were more interesting to her than any of the great masters on display. She had to concur with that lady's brother that she had talent, and Elizabeth was surprised by the wit and humour demonstrated in the portraits, including a charming sketch of her brother playing with a hound.

Elizabeth walked on in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it arrested her, as she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself. The brown eyes that observed her bore a striking resemblance to the real thing and the face wore a smile that she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her. She thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude, at that moment, than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and softened, a little, its enormous impropriety of expression.

She stood several minutes before the picture in earnest contemplation- only moving on to avoid drawing her companions' suspicions. Had she the time and privacy, she could not have said how long would be long enough to puzzle its enigma.

There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind, a more benevolent sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than that of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship; how much pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow; how much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character.

How could Elizabeth not question her unpleasant picture of the man, when so much evidence to the contrary presented itself. She searched her own experience to confirm or deny this new portrait of Darcy as a benevolent master, interested landowner, and loving brother.

* * *

When they had seen all of the house that was open to the public, the tour was passed to the care of the gardener- a wiry man, who clearly felt the same pride in the gardens as Mrs. Reynolds did in the house. To begin, they were brought around the walled garden, on a lower level than the house itself.

Mr. Gardiner expressed a wish of going round the whole park, but, with a triumphant smile, they were told it was ten miles round. That settled the matter and they agreed to instead remain near the house. He then took them along a track climbing up the wooded hill at the back of the house. Their path was wound so easily through the trees around them, and the vegetation, managed in so sympathetic and unobtrusive a manner, that it seemed that the woods had parted of its own inclination to let them pass.

The unaffected lushness of the forest was only enhanced and its unstudied roughness complemented by the view of the house that an occasional opening in the trees allowed them.

In viewing Pemberley from afar, Elizabeth was again struck by how very great it was. How fitting Mr. Darcy's pride now seemed, when she considered its origins. And how very ill-prepared must he have been to receive a negative to his offer to her, considering his heritage and residence. For the first time, she felt a glimmer of the pity for him that she had sarcastically expressed to Jane.

"And of this place," thought she as she looked down on it, "I might have been mistress! I might now have welcomed my aunt and uncle as guests. But no,"- recollecting herself- "that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite them."

This was a lucky recollection- it saved her from something like regret. She had never thought herself mercenary; Rosings held no appeal for her, but this place was magical. There was a harmony between the land and the house, the house and the staff; and the staff and the family- if her impression so far was correct. To call this place home would be something, indeed.

When they again found themselves on level ground and the trees gave way to lawn, they began, by wordless accord, to pursue a course towards the front of the house and along the river. They entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water; every step was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, as they followed the unadorned bank.

The Gardiners, engaged with the gardener in a discussion of the fishing, made slow progress. Elizabeth left them to it, continuing down the embankment until she reached the part of the river where it began to expand. So intent was she on the water before her that she did not, at first, see the owner of it himself as he unexpectedly appeared. He came from around a bend in the river's course, where his presence had been obscured by the low hanging branches of a large tree.

They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his arrival that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met and the cheeks of each were coloured with the deepest blush. Mr. Darcy's state of dishabille made clear that he had just emerged from the very river that Elizabeth had lately been studying. His lawn shirt clung to his torso in a lucent sheath and every part of him dripped. In his hands he carried his hat and coat, and his neck was bare. He absolutely started and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise.

Elizabeth momentarily registered the absurdity of it. All that she had done with this man, and yet she had never seen him so scarcely attired as he was now. She was in an agony of imagination and anticipation. His last words spoken to her were that he would never see her again and his letter the next day had concluded with a cold, if begrudgingly civil farewell, without negating his former intention. Now here she was- the woman who had manipulated and jilted him- touring his house and enjoying his gardens. _What must he think of me!_ Shortly, Mr. Darcy recovered himself and advanced towards her. Elizabeth held her breath as he spoke with perfect civility, though imperfect composure.

It was her turn to start. So unprepared was she for his courteous inquiries that she hardly knew how she answered. She received his attentions with embarrassment, ever increasing with each gracious sentence and kindly inquiry he uttered. The pair maintained a stilted conversation, repeating the same enquiries and polite sentiments in an effort to forestall the silence. Elizabeth, though glad not to be summarily dismissed from his land, could not have felt more wretched about her own past conduct, than when presented with this gentle man.

Nor did he seem much more at ease. When he spoke, his accent had none of its characteristic sedateness and he repeated his enquiries as to the time of her having left Longbourn, and of her stay in Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way, as plainly spoke the distraction of his thoughts.

He inquired after her family and then after herself more particularly. "And you? Are you… in good health?" His meaning was not lost on her and she mumbled her assurances that she was indeed well, hoping that her meaning was equally transparent.

She did endeavour to convince him that they had not been expecting him to be at home, and that they shouldn't have dreamt of invading his privacy had they known he would be there, but then she thought the better of appearing to be wishing for his absence and fell silent. Darcy was determined to be civil, and filled the void by explaining his early arrival, as being due to business with his steward.

At length, however, even the most enthusiastic of conversationalists could not have stretched the civilities any further and every idea seemed to fail him. The pair fell into an agitated muteness on both sides, only punctuated by the drip of water from Mr. Darcy's forelock.

By this time, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had caught up with them, but stood aloof from the pair. They had recognised Mr. Darcy, despite his informal attire, by the gardener's exclamation of surprise at seeing his master. Aware of there now being an audience to her shame, Elizabeth felt that this interview was one of the most awkward of her life. Mr. Darcy, at this point, recollected himself and took his leave, striding up the hill towards the house.

The Gardiners joined her, having dismissed the man and Mrs. Gardiner, still watching Mr. Darcy's retreat, expressed her admiration for his fine figure, in such warm terms that her husband felt pressed to object. As the pair joked, Elizabeth heard not a word. Her first intelligible thought was that they must leave and this she expressed to her aunt and uncle before outstripping them and bounding up the knoll towards the path. Her coming was the most ill-judged thing in the world! She tormented herself, thinking of how her presence there must appear to him: that she was throwing herself in his way to re-exert her power over him.

Oh, why was he here? Why hadn't he kept to his plans? Had they been but ten minutes sooner, they would have been beyond his reach. She blushed again and again at his finding her here. And his behaviour, so strikingly altered- _what could it mean?_ That he should even speak to her was incredible, but his pains to put her at ease went beyond anything she could expect of him- inquiring after her family, concerning himself over her health. She had never seen his manners so little dignified and so considerate. What a contrast did it offer to his leave taking at Rosings. She knew not what to think or how to account for this gentleness in him.

Nor could she help herself from wondering at his feelings on meeting her and whether, in defiance of everything, she was still dear to him. Regardless whether there had been more of pain or pleasure in the experience, there certainly had been no serenity, on either side, and Elizabeth would not allow a repeat of the ordeal for either of them.

Elizabeth had at this point crested the rise and reached the level ground around the house, her aunt and uncle hurrying in her wake. She was presently about to jump into the carriage, to the bewilderment of the groom, when hurried steps on the stone of the courtyard caught her attention. Mr. Darcy was once again striding towards them through an arched portico. He had obviously readied himself in a hurry, but his man had done him credit: he wore a dark coat and the only evidence of his haste was his wet hair and the simple knot in his cravat.

The terse manner of his calling "Miss Bennet!" to her retreating back, caused her to flinch and she momentarily feared his rancour had returned. His manner exhibited a certain restrained panic of which she could not but be wary. His manner, on reaching her, however- harried, but solicitous- proved that his good humour had not yet dissipated.

Her astonishment only increased on his asking to be introduced to her companions. She made no effort to conceal their station and watched him closely. This would be a test of this new benevolence. That he was surprised at the connection was clear, but she could not fault his civility and, having found willing companions in the Gardiners, Mr. Darcy stood on the gravel in conversation with them. Any discomfort he felt seemed to be on her account, rather than her relations. Towards them he was gracious and attentive; towards her he was circumspect. He spoke more to Mr. Gardiner than anyone else, having at once recognised that gentleman's intelligence, taste and good manners- Elizabeth had, for once, cause to be proud of her relations. She could not say that he was completely easy, but Mr. Darcy's eagerness to speak and to listen was evident, and his manner began to relax as he became acquainted with the couple, and began to sense her approbation of his behaviour. When he occasionally turned to direct some remark in her direction, his soft eyes jarred Elizabeth's composure.

The subject turned to fishing and the gentlemen were soon discussing bait and tackle. Mr. Darcy directed them back to the river, to show her uncle the best spots, after surprising them all by issuing an invitation to avail of his stocks. Their carriage was directed to meet them at the lake.

During the walk, Mrs. Gardiner, who had come to be walking ahead with Elizabeth felt the need of her husband's, arm and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were thrown together. He took the opportunity- after she again apologised for the imposition of their presence- to request that he be allowed to introduce his sister to her acquaintance **(8).**

Of all his actions that day, this was the most surprising. She had been prepared to admit that he did not resent her, had forgiven her her selfish actions, but to introduce his sister to her, given her previous conduct, showed a level of magnanimity that she could never have given him credit for. Did she know this man at all? She had fancied that this great change must have been a show for her benefit, but now she considered that she had never understood Mr. Darcy in the first place.

Their carriage was waiting on the lane, near the lake and the pair waited there for the others. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were quite a distance behind them and it was an awkward number of minutes that they spent, standing together on the lawn. He urged her to take a seat in the carriage while she waited and she politely refused. Elizabeth searched for a topic of conversation, but every subject seemed to evoke memories and sentiments best forgotten. At last, she when they were reunited, to return to the house and take refreshment, but Mrs. Gardiner, with a discerning glance at her niece, recognised the alarm in her features and delicately declined. When he had handed her into the carriage and they had moved off, Elizabeth turned back to see him walking slowly towards the house.

The journey back to Lambton was filled with her relations' impressions of Mr. Darcy. They appreciated his polite and unassuming manners and the nearest they could divine of the rumours of his aloofness was a certain 'stately' air, which was no fault. Mrs. Gardiner enjoyed relating her favourable impression of his countenance and stature, this time with the intention of rousing her niece, rather than her husband.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

 **1** As a widow, Mrs. Bennet should have spent 1 year in mourning, six months of which in full black gowns. Now she should be transitioning to wearing dark colours, or a mixture of black and white. However, mourning rules were not as strictly enforced as in the Victorian era.

 **2** The Militia was the Home Guard of the time. As they were very unlikely to see action, most regiments selected their recruits for their tall, slim stature and youthful good looks to improve the look of their regiment and therefore its prestige: Fashion in the Time of Jane Austen, Downing, S.J. (2010)

 **3** In P &P, the militia leave for Brighton at the end of May. In my story, they arrived months later than in the book, because of the cases of scarlet fever in the area, and so I have them leaving later as well.

 **4** This is the vehicle that the Gardiners and Elizabeth take to Pemberley in the 1995 adaptation. It's top, which opens in the middle and folds back, makes it a good vehicle to use for summer sightseeing. Austenblog has published a very interesting article on the carriages of P &P and the social and character details that they provide: /2010/07/02/a-closer-look-at-carriages-and-characters-in-pride-and-prejudice/

 **5** The ha-ha is a sunken wall, or fence, that prevented livestock from crossing the park to the gardens, but at the same time allowing the observer the illusion that the grounds were seamlessly connected. It was so named, because viewers would react with both surprise and laughter when they realised it had deceived them: Jane Austen's Town and Country Style; Watkins, Sue; 1990;

 **6** I have always had the idea that footmen were the layabouts of the great house, getting away with murder and generally just standing around and looking snappy. They were picked primarily for appearance and 'evaluated on the basis of the appearance of their calves in silk stocking'. It was considered absurd to have a pair of footmen who didn't match in limited research has given me a lot more empathy for the poor footman, however. They rose at the crack of dawn and worked till 11.00 at night as a Jack of all Trades, pretty much non-stop. In one account a footman who fainted and was interviewed by the doctor, said that he had not had a day off in six months and had not had a holiday or seen his family in three years: Household Management, Margaret Willes; The National Trust (1996) 2008/01/24/footmen-male-servants-in-the-regency-era/

 **7** It was the custom for housekeepers of great houses to open the house to the public if the family were away. Sometimes tours were even conducted with the family at home. The qualifications for access were the appearance of gentility- you had to look like you could afford the tip for the housekeeper. This was a nice side income for her. Tourists may also have had to pay other servants, such as the gardener: A Fine House Richly Furnished: Pemberley and the Visiting of Country Houses.

 **8** People of a lower social class were always introduced to those of a higher class, so this is a massive compliment to Elizabeth: he's saying that she is equal to them. The exception to this rule is that men were always introduced to women, no matter the station, which explains why he asks to be introduced to Mrs. Gardiner in the book.

* * *

Thanks to Myshlp for Beta-ing and to everyone who has taken the time to read and review.


	18. Chapter 18

The footnotes will be quite important in this chapter. If your confused, give them a read.

 **Recap:** Due to an epidemic of scarlet fever, which kills Mr. Bennet and Mary, the eldest Bennet daughters' stay at Netherfield is extended (November 1811). Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional tactile relationship, before he leaves suddenly for London, frightened by the strength of his feelings for her **(December 1811).** After reconnecting with Mr. Darcy at Rosings, Elizabeth becomes alarmed by his attentions. He finally confronts her when she is alone at the parsonage and proposes **(April 1812).** He is disbelieving of her refusal. Their argument soon develops into a passionate, but angry, kiss and they have intercourse for the first time in Elizabeth's bedroom. During the act, Kitty and Mr. Collins come home and Darcy must hastily hide under the bed from Kitty. He overhears the ladies disparaging him and he and Elizabeth argue again once Kitty leaves. They fight over Wickham and Darcy's involvement in Bingley leaving Netherfield. Darcy accuses Elizabeth of using him to satisfy her baser urges and she begins to feel sorry for this. Her attempt at apology, however, involves another kiss. Darcy refuses to continue until he can clarify her feelings for him. She is blunt in her dislike of his haughty behaviour and he leaves declaring he will never see her again. He has Colonel Fitzwilliam deliver a letter to her the next day in which he explains his involvement with Wickham and Bingley. The pair leaves the next day and Elizabeth leaves Kent a fortnight later. Elizabeth and Jane both return home to Longbourn where Elizabeth tells her about her affair with Darcy. Jane is initially angry, but tries to see the problem from both sides. She is convinced of Darcy's love for Elizabeth, but Elizabeth is still sceptical. They have a conversation in bed at night, in which Jane, criticises Elizabeth's treatment of Darcy. While holidaying with her aunt and uncle in Derbyshire **(July-August 1812)** , she encounters a changed Mr. Darcy at Pemberley. He asks to visit her and introduce his sister.

 **Chapter 18**

Mr. Darcy and his sister were prompt in their promised visit and, the next day, arrived at the earliest acceptable hour- the lady having just alighted from her own carriage north. To Elizabeth's surprise they brought with them Mr. Bingley, who was among a number of Mr. Darcy's friends visiting Pemberley. His oblique inquiries gave Elizabeth to believe that he had not yet forgotten her sister.

She could not quite forgive him his lack of constancy or determination, whichever was responsible for his abandoning Jane, but the anger of eight months ago could hardly stand against such unaffected cordiality as he exhibited on bouncing into the room.

Mr. Darcy watched their discussion closely, but showed no sign of distress or disapproval and was either complacent that Bingley could not be tempted back to Miss Bennet, or did not care to stop it. Elizabeth had never lost her scepticism of Mr. Darcy's involvement and motivation for his part in removing Bingley from Netherfield. The man who could do such a thing, seemed so far removed from Mr. Darcy's current behaviour—if she could trust it to continue.

Miss Darcy was perfectly polite, if a little too quiet for such a lively gathering. That she had received a positive impression of Elizabeth was certain, given her eagerness to, if not speak to her, at least stand near her, occasionally peeking out from under her bonnet to smile at anything she said. This impression could only have one source, Elizabeth suspected. She appreciated Mr. Darcy's generosity in overlooking the past and allowing her to know this delicate flower.

The visit was a lively one; the presence of Messrs. Bingley and Gardiner ensured that. Although neither of the Darcys could be described as loquacious, both were eager to be pleased and Darcy was determined to take part. Elizabeth was on tenterhooks and her interest was only on him. No matter how mundane his conversation, it surpassed her own, and her eyes continuously wandered in his direction, to the extent that her aunt jovially abused her stupidity and inattention.

The party from Pemberley did not remain long, as the Gardiners, not expecting their visit so soon, were going out. In the noisy bustle of both parties taking leave, Mr. Darcy prompted his sister to invite the party to dine at Pemberley and the next day was settled on for the occasion.

* * *

There was no time to repay the visit before that dinner and Elizabeth's next view of Pemberley was in the torchlight at dusk as they rounded the drive. Mr. Darcy was there to greet them, along with Miss Darcy, pre-notified by some unseen servant of their arrival. He handed Mrs. Gardiner down to her husband before grasping Elizabeth's hand lightly, placing it on his arm and, with Georgiana on his other, walking them into the house.

Along with Mr. and Miss Bingley and the Hursts, whom she had expected, Elizabeth was introduced to a roomful of other guests on entering the drawing room. Ladies were in the minority, with only the sisters of a number of the gentlemen present. Mr. Darcy's friends looked to be about his age, none were married, other than the Hursts and there was an air of vitality and virility in the room.

Mr. Darcy was a considerate host, introducing them to a group including the Bingleys, before another gentleman claimed his attention and drew him away.

They were not long in the drawing room before the dinner gong was struck. and the guests began to gather in a body ready to enter the dining room.

Mr. Darcy would escort one woman into dinner, but Elizabeth could not determine who would hold seniority. There was a mix of people in the room, some, like Mr. Bingley, relatively new-moneyed, while the rest included the son of a viscount and several from old families of the ton. She could not quite remember which sister belonged to which gentleman and could not determine precedence. Darcy himself seemed to waver but a moment; the setting of his shoulders, the outward sign of his resolution. He strode in Elizabeth's direction, in that way of his—purposeful even in this negligible journey—and her heart clenched, thinking that he would stop before her. He walked past her, however, and bowed before her aunt, wordlessly offering her his arm **(1).**

Elizabeth found herself on the arm of Mr. Tattersall as they made their way to the dining room and were seated in the middle of the table. Mr. Tattersall was the grandson and son of the racehorse auctioneers, but, far from being the horse-mad bore that Elizabeth feared, he was engaging and charismatic, with a charming smile **(2).** All the usual civilities were exchanged between them, with enough consideration and wit to leave both with a favourable impression of the other and he continued to amuse her throughout dinner, with anecdotes from, what she gathered to be, a very active London social life.

That gentleman's sister was seated across the table. She was a perfectly adequate young lady, with a certain fashionable malaise that Elizabeth suspected was entirely feigned. Her conversation was pleasing enough for a dinner companion, as light and instantly forgotten as sweetmeats **(3).**

Elizabeth sat as far from Mr. Darcy as possible, but was pleased to see him carrying on a friendly, if not entirely relaxed conversation with her aunt. When not otherwise engaged, she snuck glances at the head of the table and, when she feared being caught in this pastime, played with her food, or contented herself with returning Mr. Tattersall's frequent volleys of urbane, if somewhat self-congratulatory wit.

After dinner, the ladies withdrew and spent a rather dull half an hour together after the animated exchanges in the dining room. They perked up at the entrance of the gentlemen and a certain vigour returned to the room. The gentlemen had been drinking and spirits were high. Card tables were brought out and conversation sprung up in pockets around the room. Georgiana was in a barely controlled panic at the commotion of the gentlemen's return to the party, seeking to do her duty: organising the activities while avoiding engaging with any of the gentlemen.

When the games were over, she chose a place near Elizabeth and the pair were attempting to conduct a conversation around the pontifications of Miss Bingley and nodded concurrences of Mrs. Hurst. The former was staying close to Elizabeth, feeling that it was better to keep her rival near and poison her exchanges with Georgianna. At length, Miss Darcy did get a word in and turned to Elizabeth to ask her if she would grace them at the piano tonight.

"I do long to hear you play," she admitted with a blush.

"I am afraid my performance by no means justifies such anticipation. You would do better to ask Miss Bingley. Her playing is finer than mine ever shall be," Elizabeth replied seeking to volley Miss Darcy's interest to a more appreciative recipient.

"I have had the honour of hearing Miss Bingley on several occasions and she does play beautifully; but..."

"Oh Georgiana, you are too kind," Miss Bingley interrupted. "Of course that praise means so much more when coming from a proficient such as yourself." She turned to Elizabeth with a sharp look.

Georgiana smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment to herself, though clearly alarmed by the enmity she sensed towards her companion. She showed a rare flash of determination and carried on.

"My brother says he has rarely heard anything that has given him more pleasure than your playing, Miss Bennet."

Before Elizabeth could query this remark, Mr. Darcy himself approached the group and Elizabeth was afraid that either Miss Darcy or Miss Bingley would ask him to confirm his sentiments. She could not stand the embarrassment, neither his, nor her own. Fortunately, the ladies were both afraid to broach the subject with Mr. Darcy, one of exciting his disapproval, the other of drawing his attention to Miss Bennet.

Mr. Darcy immediately engaged Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst in conversation and the trio conversed almost exclusively for some time. Initially feeling his neglect, Elizabeth contemplated whether Mr. Darcy's civility had run its course, but soon found it to be a happy arrangement that would allow her to converse freely with Miss Georgiana.

A minute's attempt at private conversation was enough to determine that Georgiana Darcy was painfully shy. She did seem to wish to speak to Elizabeth though, and was surprisingly candid when she could be coaxed into conversation: she was a sixteen year old girl looking for a woman to emulate and befriend. That woman would not be Miss Bingley, judging by how Georgiana visibly shrivelled on her returning to the conversation once again. Mr. Darcy had moved on to speak to a group of gentlemen across the room.

The guests were clearly still on Town hours, and it was late when supper was rolled out. Elizabeth could not work up an appetite at that time of night and stood back from the bustle at the sideboard.

Mr. Darcy, of whom she had been aware all night, who had taken every effort to forward her conversation with his sister at the expense of talking to her himself, approached Elizabeth where she stood by the window. He didn't carry a plate, but offered to fetch one for her. She declined. When pressed, however, she expressed an inclination for some fruit, which he went to procure.

He arrived back with a plate filled with grapes and nectarine slices, along with a ring of some pitted yellow fruit. To Elizabeth's astonishment, she discovered, on looking up at the beautiful pyramid of fruit, that the oddly-decorated, spiky oval, which had been so clearly on display—in pride of place, first on the dinner table, and now on the sideboard- had been dissected and was currently being cut into chunks by the attending footman. The other guests were equally astonished, even, she noted, the son of the viscount. They stared from her plate to the disassembled chunks, before- allowing only enough time to nod at politesse- a queue began to form at the sideboard; everyone was eager to take a piece **(4).**

Mr. Darcy's amusement at her flabbergasted expression would have been highly irritating had he not paid so handsomely for the privilege. Elizabeth began to splutter her refusal to take the fruit, which he would not entertain. She offered to share her piece with him, also declined, and finally, with Mr. Darcy's eyes glued to her face, she brought the succulent fruit to her lips to have her first taste of a pineapple.

The moment the meaty fruit touched her tongue, an explosion of flavour assaulted her. The flesh—not as stringy as it looked and with a pleasing bite—was deliciously sweet with just enough of a tart aftertaste to balance the flavour. Elizabeth savoured the experience, cherishing the juices that swirled around in her mouth.

She did not realise that she had closed her eyes, until she opened them again, just before swallowing. That action was stalled by the sudden realisation that Mr. Darcy was almost salivating at the sight of her pleasure. He did not release her gaze as she slowly swallowed, noting the flavour still lingering in her mouth.

She ate the rest of the fruit in silence, regularly glancing at Mr. Darcy dropping her eyes at the intensity. Their gazes were always drawn back to each other as she ate, until only the juice on her fingers remained. What could she do, but suck them into her mouth one by one, rather than waste any of the precious syrup? She began to enjoy the effect it was having on Mr. Darcy. When she had finished, he wordlessly took her plate and placed it on the nearest table, before returning to her side.

Miss Bingley followed him, holding her own plate: she could not miss the opportunity to praise their host. Never had she spent such a pleasant evening, nor used such pretty china, nor enjoyed such delicate victuals as at this present moment **(5).** From her flattery, you would think the pineapple had been cut just for her.

When Miss Bingley had finished her plate, Georgiana, having clearly balled up her courage, stood and, without guile, asked Miss Bingley, in a voice wavering, but carrying around the room, to perform for their pleasure. Miss Bingley was gratified in the extreme and willingly relinquished her place by Mr. Darcy.

While she was playing, Elizabeth glanced out of the window at the moonlight reflecting on the water. The windows were open in the summer heat and a cooling breeze wafted through.

"Did you have a chance to see much of the grounds?" Mr. Darcy's voice startled her—she had almost forgotten his presence.

"Not very much. We stayed near the house for my aunt's comfort."

"And what were your impressions?"

"I had imagined the gardens would be more regimented, more ordered."

Mr. Darcy frowned in contemplation. "You did not anticipate liking them?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. My aunt was in raptures before we came, describing their beauty." She did not dare to say that the soft and balanced grounds were not what she had expected from him.

"You expected a rigid and measured type of beauty, I suppose," Mr. Darcy said, with a sad smile.

She did not deny it. How well he now knew her opinions of him. Would that he had been so prescient when she had truly believed them.

"Nothing could be further from the truth, though," she said gesturing towards the view out of the window.

"But you are a Romantic, are you not?" Mr. Darcy asked with renewed energy, after a pause. "I should think you would prefer a rather more sublime picture: is Pemberley not too pretty for your tastes? **(6)** "

"I am not such a pedant that I would reject this paradise, simply because it doesn't fit a certain archetype. I am amazed by how picturesque it is. The view from any window or prominence within the park is fit for a painting **(7)**." Mr. Darcy was very pleased at her judgement, she could tell. He was not content to leave it there, however.

"Ah, so you do suspect me of fabrication- according to Gilpin's rules, perhaps?"

"No, indeed. There is nothing so systematic at work here: none of the absurdity of carefully placed rocks."

She liked this Mr. Darcy, she found. A little absurdity became him.

"But could it not be improved upon, in the manner of the picturesque? I could add a gothic ruin or two, or some other symbol of decaying beauty? Should you not like to take a mallet to one of Pemberley's gables? **(8)** "

 _Is he teasing me? Who is this man?_ Elizabeth hoped that her incredulity did not show on her face, but, long ago conditioned to her father's bantering, quickly replied, "I am not so naïve as to believe that every view has been produced entirely organically. I am sure there has been some planning in the garden's composition, but it is done so sympathetically, and the natural beauty of the place has not been ruined. That is what makes it truly picturesque. If I were more of an artist, I should love to paint it."

"I'm sure Georgianna would join you—she has all the oils and pigments you could need. Just say the word- I'm sure we can find you a Claude glass from somewhere **(9)**."

Elizabeth burst out laughing at the image of herself, back to the view, peering through a small mirror to capture a moody version of Pemberley; it was the first time he had consciously made her laugh and both marked it. They enjoyed the amity between them for a moment.

He then changed tack. "Can we convince you to play for us this evening?"

"Your sister has already tried, but someone has been misrepresenting my talent to her. So now, you see, I could not play even if I wished to." He had the good grace to appear abashed at her allusion. "She is expecting a virtuoso and has shared her expectations with the other ladies. Should they then have to sit through my playing there would be uproar. Now, do you regret falsifying my abilities to your sister?"

Mr. Darcy's reply was all that was courteous and sincere, but he refused to renege on his sentiments.

"And where did you come by these outlandish opinions? You cannot have heard me play more than twice."

"I have witnessed you playing in company several times: at Sir Lucas' party, at the beginning of our acquaintance; and at Rosings, also. But I am, in fact, more familiar with your playing than that. I know that you sometimes went into the drawing room at Netherfield to practice in the mornings, when the other ladies were still in bed; that you prefer an Irish air to a Sonata and that when frustrated you would stamp your foot so loudly that I could hear it from Bingley's study."

Elizabeth turned away, embarrassed at her lack of refinement and troubled again by her complete ignorance of his previous interest. How could she have been so dense?

"It seems you have been very attentive… to my musical habits" she said without meeting his eye.

"Clearly not enough," was Mr. Darcy's only reply

This last was said, not with the bitterness that Elizabeth might have formerly expected, but with a resigned acceptance—an aside, more for his benefit than hers. By the time Elizabeth looked up to meet his eyes, he was no longer looking at her, but at Mr. Tattersall, who was coming to join them. Mr. Darcy smiled slightly at his approach, and showed no trace of his recent feelings.

The gentlemen spoke more to each other than to her, their discussion of the upcoming racing season not one to which she could much contribute; but they answered her questions patiently and included her when they could. She was at leisure to look around the room and saw that the suspicions of the entire party had been alerted in the most dramatic way by her fruit-eating adventure with Mr. Darcy. The ladies at the fire were furious in their speculations and, when at length their carriage was called, and Mr. Darcy escorted Elizabeth out, every eye watched their backs in their withdrawal from the room. There were no witnesses, however, when, as he handed her into his carriage, Mr. Darcy tentatively massaged the back of Elizabeth's hand with his thumb.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

 **1)** Strict precedence was observed in the order of ladies procession. It could be awkward with seniority of age conflicted with seniority of rank. Women gave way to guests in their own home: Jane Austen and Food; Lane, M.; 1995.

 **2)** Richard Tattersall was a real person. His grandfather, also Richard, founded the famous racehorse auctioneer's that is the main seller of racehorses in the UK and Ireland to this day. He would have been 27 years old at this time. His personal details are fictional.

 **3)** Sweetmeats were candies, cakes and light pastries.

 **4)** The pineapple was the ultimate status symbol at the time. It was difficult to grow, taking three years. A perfectly ripe pineapple could cost up to the equivalent of £10,000 in the Georgian era as they had to be imported (quickly) from the Americas. They could, by this time, be grown in specifically made, constantly heated and humidified hothouses, or pineries in the UK, but were still very expensive and a great luxury.I found an article about a pineapple grown recently using the same traditional methods and it would apparently today still be worth £10,000 due to its rarity and the energy and resources it took to grow: .

Because of the exorbitant expense, people milked each pineapple for all it was worth, displaying it for guests and even bringing it around to parties with them. It would only have been eaten once it had started to go off. In the 1995 P&P, you can see pineapples intact on the supper tables at the Netherfield ball.

If you had delusions to grandeur, without the resources to back it up, you would rent, rather than buy a pineapple, sometimes for only a matter of hours. The pineapple was passed around from renter to renter for display, until finally being sold to eat. Most people who had come into contact with a pineapple during the Regency period had never eaten one and even renting was out of reach for the vast majority.

I can imagine Darcy wanting to please his sister, as well as his guests with a taste of a pineapple. I also imagine he may have the resources to grow his own, so I don't think this one is rented, but the guests would have been shocked that it was eaten so soon, on the day after their arrival, and at the behest of Elizabeth.

 **5)** Victuals, pronounced 'vittles': food.

 **6)** The Romantic movement had taken London society by storm and paintings, poems and novels of the period were full of dark brooding ruins, mediaeval towers and ancient pagan temples: Jane Austen's Regency World Magazine, Blake, S: . Darcy is also referencing to their argument on poetry at Netherfield.

 **7)** The word picturesque means literally "in the manner of a picture; fit to be made into a picture". Jane Austen makes explicit reference to the principles of the picturesque in the scene at Netherfield, where she and Miss Bingley come upon Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Hurst in the gardens. She refuses to join them and justifies this by saying, "You are charmingly group'd, and appear to uncommon, advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth." She is referencing a book by William Gilpin, in which he explains the problem of grouping twos and fours in a painting, but that 'with three you are almost always sure of a good group.' The joke Jane Austen is playing, is that Gilpin was actually discussing the grouping of larger cattle.

 **8)** In one much-quoted passage from his book ' _Observations on the River Wye and several parts of South Wales, etc. relative chiefly to Picturesque Beauty; made in the summer of the year 1770'_ , Gilpin takes things to an extreme, suggesting that "a mallet judiciously used" might render the insufficiently ruinous gable of Tintern Abbey more picturesque.

 **9)** A Claude glass was a small mirror used to simplify and darken the colours of a view to give it a painterly quality. They were famously used by picturesque landscape painters. The user would turn their back on the scene to observe the framed view through the small tinted mirror.

* * *

This is the first of two chapters that will be posted this weekend.


	19. Chapter 19

**I'd like to thank Myshlp as always, for editing this and the last chapter in one marathon session.**

 **This chapter was written very quickly (for me) in only about a week. As such, I feel like I haven't pored over every word like I usually do. I apologise for any resulting error and I'd be grateful if you could point out any that you notice, so I can fix them when I go back and edit.**

 **I've just noticed that my hyperlinks aren't coming out, even though I hide the dots. If you're interested in any of the webpages I've referenced, PM me and I can give you more info.**

 **If you need a recap, you should find one in ch.18.**

 **Chapter 19**

The following morning, after a leisurely breakfast, the Gardiners set out on foot to meet some friends of Mrs. Gardiner. Elizabeth chose to remain at home, still tired after their late night amusement and planning to spend the morning reading. She could not convince her body to forgo its usual habits, however, and before long, had collected her bonnet and spencer, donned her gloves and was heading out the door. Though she walked with abandon at home, she was sensible enough not to strike off alone into the Derbyshire wilderness **(1).** She would stick to the turnpike road and keep her walk very short **(2).**

As she left the town behind, the road was verged by a dry stone wall enclosing, on the right hand side, a field of golden rapeseed **(3),** which she stopped to admire. The hills around Pemberley were before her in the distance and in a cleared area on the crest was visible the apex of a building, barely in view over the top of the hill. The façade, she knew could be seen from the other side, the Pemberley facing side. Her thoughts were disturbed by the urge to traipse through the flowers and trek the mile or so up to reach it.

She stood leaning against the wall, when the sound of an approaching vehicle attracted her attention. Of course, it was Mr. Darcy coming towards her in a smart curricle pulled by a matching pair. His amused smile on seeing her out alone spoke to his lack of surprise.

"Good day, Miss Bennet," he called as he alighted from his carriage. "You have not lost your enthusiasm for a morning walk, I see."

"Good day, sir. I was just admiring your folly on the hill." Mr. Darcy followed her line of sight and smiled at the compliment.

"I must say I am rather fond of that one, myself. The path up to it is very pleasant also."

He looked down at her for a moment with smiling thoughtfulness, before finally remembering to speak.

"I was just on my way to call on your aunt and invite your uncle to fish with the party at Pemberley tomorrow. May I offer you a ride back?"

"I am afraid you will not find my uncle at the inn. He and my aunt are visiting friends. I would be happy to relay your message, though."

"I thank you, but I should prefer to ask him in person and spare your uncle the cost of a messenger."

Mr. Darcy seemed to think for a moment, before asking, probably with more haste than he had intended, "Perhaps I could show you the folly, as you expressed an interest in it?"

He was in awkward agony for the few moments it took her to reply. For her part, she didn't know how to answer. Formerly, she would have been wishing not to go and merely grasping for a polite excuse. Now, she felt none of the daunting energy from him that she once did, and found that she rather wanted to go, but didn't know if she should.

She thought, somehow, that she could trust him not to molest her, and there could, after all, be no impropriety in travelling together in an open carriage **(4)**. She accepted prettily, and Mr. Darcy handed her up and took a seat beside her. The jostling of the carriage, as they turned off the turnpike road and onto a more interesting path helped to keep her mind off of Mr. Darcy's proximity. So, also, did his conversation as they began to climb a series of undulations that would finally lead to the folly.

"The Bingley party has left Pemberley unexpectedly." Darcy blurted out of the blue. Her head whipping around must have alarmed him, as he hurried to explain, "They wished me to convey their regret at not being able to properly take their leave." He cautiously glanced over at her while trying to keep his eyes on the horses, also.

"Mr. Bingley in particular was vehement that his warmest esteem be conveyed to your aunt and uncle, as well as to yourself, and that you be assured of his distress at having to leave all of his friends so soon." He finally began to relax on seeing her gentle smile while imagining the scene. She was still uneasy at his disappearance so soon after their own arrival and what it may mean for his reawakened interest in Jane, but it seemed he had, at least, not been eager to be away from them.

Due to the surrounding trees, Elizabeth did not see the folly, until they were upon it and it appeared, quite imposing, before them. It was a four-sided building in the style of a Greek temple complete with columns and pediments. The temple lacked a roof, a choice that Elizabeth thought was inspired, as she made her way up the steps to enter the space and gaze out of the void and into the blue sky. Four sturdy corners were connected by Corinthian columns on the long sides and separated by an arch on each of the short ones. The whole effect was one of commanding, yet restrained elegance, nestled in the surrounding woodlands: it was Pemberley in miniature **(5)**.

Mr. Darcy, after securing the horses, followed her up to the folly, but remained outside due to some odd sense of propriety. She explored it with delight, weaving in and out of the structure to examine it from every angle. Finally satisfied, she came to a stop beside Mr. Darcy, who was leaning on a column looking out onto the valley below. Following his gaze, she noticed, for the first time, the view of Pemberley, from higher ground than she had ever seen it before: the park and its meandering river, and the pale house to their right.

"It is the most beautiful house I've ever seen."

Mr. Darcy dipped his head shyly, but was clearly proud of his home. "I cannot bow to modesty and disagree with you." His solemnity returned as he contemplated the sight before him: his life's work. "I have yet to find a place I like better, but the house is 250 years old. I cannot take the credit for Pemberley. It is the work of many generations and merely good fortune that I have been born into my position. It is a great privilege to live here, but a responsibility, also."

"Pemberley is not mine, to be fit up according to the latest fashions, with no regard to posterity," he continued, referencing their discussion of the night before. "In 100 years' time, this house will still stand, I hope. I will be long gone, yet this will remain."

Elizabeth was struck by the thought of how meaningful Pemberley was to Darcy, how connected he was to this place and how little he could be understood apart from it.

She had once thought herself a study of character, but never had she made allowance for any consideration outside of her own experience. Mr. Wickham had acted the gentleman with her, and so he was a gentleman. Mr. Darcy had acted an arrogant, self-assured prig, who chose not to engage with those around him, and so he was; He had shown her one aspect to his character, in one situation, and so that was all she had deemed him to be. What a fool she was.

"Our guests are visiting Stanage Edge today. I had planned to lead the party, but I had estate business this morning that could not be avoided **(6)**."

"Georgianna felt herself indisposed this morning," Mr. Darcy continued with a pulse of his jaw, "and also stayed at home. I am sure she would welcome your company. Will you come and take tea at the house?" His manner had regained that stiff reserve which she had previously known, and she could not help feeling that he was not best pleased with Georgianna's remaining at home. Far from annoying her as it once did, she felt amused at his obvious exasperation and sorry for Georgianna.

She agreed to his proposition and they set off in his curricle—to Pemberley this time—by a less taken route, as evidenced by the narrow road and rougher terrain. Mr. Darcy stopped before the entrance, handed the reins to a waiting stable boy and waved off the other staff that attempted to fuss about them, though one did manage to help Elizabeth alight.

Mr. Darcy strode up the steps, before remembering her. He stopped, abashed and waited to escort her in, which he did at a ludicrously slow pace, it seemed to her, as if to make up for his previous impatience. He inquired from a passing footman as to the whereabouts of his sister and bristled to learn that she was keeping to her rooms, though where else he expected an ill girl to be, Elizabeth didn't know. They proceeded up the staircase towards Georgianna's sitting room. Mr. Darcy was too agitated to converse easily and Elizabeth truly began to fear for Georgianna, once her brother found her.

* * *

His knock on the door of Georgianna's sitting room was bizarrely gentle, given his behaviour, and Georgianna's meek response ushered Mr. Darcy in with quiet steps. Georgianna's eyes, as they lit up at seeing her, were all the welcome that Elizabeth needed. However, the girl did attempt to verbalise her delight, rising from the fainting couch on which she was settled and dropping the blanket that had covered her knees. She seemed to realise her mistake and sat back down as feebly as she could manage, tucking herself in for good measure. Elizabeth knew better than to bring attention to her supposed malady, but felt she must say something, out of politeness, and settled for wishing her hostess well.

She and Mr. Darcy settled on a pair of chairs opposite her. Georgianna took up her work once more, but glanced at her brother surreptitiously when she thought he wasn't watching. He always was. Elizabeth felt out of place, though Mr. Darcy's troubled face no longer made her fear his anger at his sister. He just watched her forlornly.

"Are you feeling better, now?" he finally asked and her expression when she met his eyes and answered that she was, a little, was heart-breaking.

Mr. Darcy watched her for a moment, standing abruptly, and paced to the window. He stared out of the it, but his eyes brimmed with emotion: he did not see what was before him.

Elizabeth could not leave the girl to her guilt. "I hope your guests will enjoy Stanage Edge. We had planned to visit, but I don't believe we will get the chance before returning home now. I have seen pictures, of course, but I imagine they hardly convey the reality. Have you ever been there?"

"I have not, I'm afraid to say. I have not seen a lot of my own county. I should have liked to go on the excursion today. However…" Here her voice dropped off and she glanced anxiously at her brother's back.

"Oh, that is a pity," Elizabeth interjected in an effort to smooth over any possible discord. "But you will be here for the summer, will you not? Perhaps you can take the trip with your brother before you return to London." Mr. Darcy looked over his shoulder slightly at her mentioning his name, but did not re-join the conversation. "

"Still," Elizabeth continued, "It is nice to have a quiet morning to yourself, when you are entertaining a large party." Georgianna did not respond.

"I would find the whole endeavour quite daunting." This got her attention and she seemed to doubt the truth of that statement. Elizabeth continued, "You are so tall and grown-up looking that I'm sure your guests must forget how young you are." Georgianna lowered her eyes, but could not hide her pleasure at being thought older than she was.

Elizabeth moved to the edge of her seat in an attempt to catch her eye. "Thank you for the invitation to dinner yesterday," she said. "We enjoyed ourselves very much. Did you plan the menu?"

She was surprised to learn that Georgianna, encouraged by her brother, had taken an active role in planning for the house party through frequent letters with Mrs. Reynolds and had planned the menu for the entire fortnight of their guests' stay.

In this manner, Elizabeth drew Georgianna into conversation. It was sometimes two steps forward and one back with the girl. She would find a topic that engaged and lightened the girls' mood, only to fall on some unknown stumbling block of embarrassment that caused her to round her shoulders and seek refuge in her workbasket.

Elizabeth was nothing if not tenacious, and she really did like the girl and persevered. Georgiana suffered from the same affliction as her brother, but without the independence, consequence, or responsibilities that might distract her from her brooding tendencies.

The mention of Georgiana's puppy was the final cord broken and all her girlish enthusiasm came bursting forth as she described his antics in the carriage. Elizabeth got as much enjoyment from imagining Miss Bingley's reactions as she struggled to reconcile her innate self-importance and the enjoyment of Mr. Darcy's carriage springs with the tolerance of a slobbering dog, even if he did chew a hole in her reticule.

When she chanced to look up, she saw that Mr. Darcy had turned full around and was grinning down at the pair—there was no other word. He beamed openly and without disguise. Elizabeth almost missed Georgiana's next question.

"Would you like to meet him? We're keeping him down in the stables, because he chews everything and Mrs. Reynolds won't have him in the house…"

Before Elizabeth could answer, Mr. Darcy stepped back towards them. "Dearest, you have been sick all day and missed the excursion because of it. It would not do to be seen gallivanting outdoors with Figaro. You would not want word to get back to your guests." He was firm, but had lost his agitation and Elizabeth could see his affection for his sister as he let her know that she would not be getting away with her deception, and would have to live with her actions.

Georgiana capitulated, obviously disappointed, but her elevated mood was not lost and when Elizabeth, not wanting to outstay her welcome, said that she would leave her to rest, Georgiana bid her farewell with good humour.

* * *

"Thank you for your kindness to my sister." Mr. Darcy spoke as they retraced their steps down the corridor. "She is rarely so open, even with ladies she has known for some time."

"It is nothing, sir. She is a sweet girl".

Mr. Darcy offered his arm as they stood at the top of the grand staircase.

"She was never confident, even before last summer; she finds it very difficult to make friends." His tense arm felt like stone beneath her fingers.

"I think that someone, such as your sister, who finds themselves uneasy in large parties, should be gently encouraged to practice. Any young person her age would be overwhelmed by hosting such a large gathering. When I think of Lydia or Kitty being asked to…" Her cheeks reddened at the thought of reminding him of her younger sisters' misdeeds. "Well, I don't think I know of any girl of 16 years old who would acquit herself with more grace than I have seen from Georgiana. You should be very proud of her."

There was that grin of his again. He evidently was proud of her, even if disappointed in her actions of that morning.

"Even so, I thank you for being gentle with her when she needed it, and when I could not be."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Elizabeth presumed that he would call for the carriage and take her home, or have her taken home, but he hesitated below the bottom step.

"When you toured the house, did you visit the library?"

She answered in the negative and Mr. Darcy, having released her arm, gestured for her to follow his direction. The library was located in a wing of the house, and they walked through several connecting rooms, familiar to Elizabeth, to get there.

The library was beyond two over-sized doors, giving an indication of the room beyond, and her anticipation was not disappointed when Mr. Darcy opened them. The remarkable feature of the library was its rounded roof, looming overhead. It was panelled with dark wood and punctuated with arched beams, which almost disappeared in the gloom at their zenith: a cathedral of knowledge. These arches delineated the free space in the centre of the room and the base of each was marked by a bust. The books—wonderfully warm and textured—lined several wall-to-ceiling bookshelves, which connected each arch to the walls of the room. This created a small aisle between the bases of the arches on both sides of the room, where Elizabeth could imagine herself hiding away with her favourite tome. A second storey of books, on a mezzanine above them added to the impression of being watched over by the literature of years gone by **(7)**. She wandered for a time enjoying the play of light in the gloom.

"You know not how lucky you are to have such a resource. And Georgiana; she strikes me as a girl who reads."

Darcy confirmed that she was. "Though I doubt she could match your enthusiasm."

"Yes, I have always been too curious for my own good."

"Curiosity expressed through reading can never be a bad thing, surely."

"I don't think my father's pocketbook would have agreed with you; but he indulged me in my passion, even if it meant my taking over his book room. It is a little different now."

Darcy did not know what say to that. He would have loved to tell her what he really felt: that he would lay his library at her feet; that she would never want for a book or a room to put it in again; that he would make Pemberley a deposit library if she wished! If only she promised to stay forever **(8)**.

Damn his cowardice! Instead he made some dull comment about reading being a pleasant pastime.

"I don't doubt that your understanding is first rate, sir, but you could not possibly comprehend the importance of reading for a woman with an inquiring mind. Men are expected to learn through experience: you travel to broaden your experience—take the Grand Tour; while we must make do with travel books, describing strange sights in unknown climes that we shall never see. Take away our books, and we are left with a very limited view of the world indeed."

"I cannot pretend to have experienced any such predicament, but I sympathise. I certainly do not wish Georgianna to be cloistered away and experience everything second hand, through her novels. I think she has been guilty of that, to some degree, or rather, that I have been too protective of her. But I cannot see that you have been stifled. You paint yourself as being impoverished by your sex, but I cannot see anything lacking in your education."

He was making a habit of such statements; statements that she could not reply to; statements that ended the argument and made her blush.

Rather than make any attempt at a retort, she continued down the aisles until her attention was drawn to a section towards the back of the room, containing volumes of modern poetry. She reached tentatively, to pull one out of its place and read the title. "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell," she read.

"William Blake!" she exclaimed stupidly, turning to Mr. Darcy who had followed her perusal. "But you hate William Blake."

Mr. Darcy smiled indulgently. "It's a recent acquisition". Elizabeth turned her attention back to the book, running her hand down the spine to trace the gilt title; she noticed an ornamented P—for Pemberley, she presumed—as part of the ornamentation ( **9)**. She opened the book and it landed on a page that had clearly seen much use.

"Proverbs of Hell". Elizabeth started at the sound of Mr. Darcy's voice, reading the poem's title over her shoulder.

She stilled, except for the hammering of her heart. "Is this a particular favourite of yours?" wondering if he could hear the quiver in her voice.

He did not answer and instead read the poem in a low voice. Near the end, he read the line, _'Exuberance is beauty'._ He paused and then said. "I think of you whenever I read that." Her attention was not on the page, but on the man who was all around her. She could feel his eyes and his breath on her neck and unconsciously moved her head to the side, exposing more of it to him.

"That's why I like Blake." Her voice was breathy, in spite of herself. "I like that he doesn't preach a traditional morality. Inaction is as bad as excess to him. He wants us to take pleasure in acting upon our lusts without shame or guilt." What was she saying? She had thought that she was just blathering, but somehow she had ended up saying something in her ramblings. But what was it that she was saying?

"Of course," _Oh God, I've started speaking again!_ "Really, he is arguing against extremes; that any extreme, even if labelled as 'good', is innately evil." She stopped. Finally she had stopped. Now, if she could only prevent herself from opening her mouth again.

He still wasn't saying anything, though, and every moment the pressure within her built. Suspended in that never-ending moment, she waited for his reaction, waited for him to say something, to do anything.

Finally, like the caress of a gentle breeze, she felt the most feathery brush of his lips on the place where her shoulder and neck met. He hung there for a moment, his lips resting on her skin, as he breathed in her scent and she trembled. He remembered himself then; he did not move away, but tucked his head in to break contact while still hovering over her.

"Forgive me," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

She knew that he was apologising for more than one kiss. She could imagine his stance, defeated and pensive as he wallowed in his guilt and relived every painful moment.

She turned to face him, and she was not far wrong. He had shrunk into himself, his eyes winced shut.

"I believe you should follow Mr. Blake's example, in this."

That got his attention, his confused and startled attention. Staring into his vulnerable eyes, she slowly moved towards him. Their first contact was through the book in her hands, placed against his chest as she leaned in and lifted herself onto her toes. The stretching of the leather in her boots was echoed in the lengthening of her neck as she reached, ever so carefully reached, and tilted and elongated, until she kissed his lips, simply and gently, and with an intent unlike any previous in its purity.

Mr. Darcy accepted her kiss, more or less passively. Afterwards, he opened his mouth to speak, closed it again and took a deliberate step back, unsure what to do, what was permitted, what would best convey his unfailing admiration and respect. This was not how he had planned to approach her!

His timidity and reluctance only fuelled her courage and she boldly stepped forward. "We have both done things for which to beg forgiveness, but that was not one of them."

He wore a quizzical look, that would not be out of place on a startled dog and he wore it for longer than did credit to his considerable intelligence.

Exasperated she inquired, "Would you force me to embarrass myself by asking that my salutation be returned? **(10)** "

Mr. Darcy's features shifted into a look of realisation and then mischief; a look that would have worried her, had not his affection also been plainly visible.

No-one could be smug like Mr. Darcy could. His whole demeanour changed: squared shoulders proved his new-found confidence and a cocked eyebrow foretold some mischief on his part. He reached for her and a spur of the moment impulse told her to run. She had made it to the end of the library before he knew what had happened. He called to her 'Elizabeth', and she was up the steps.

By the time he had made a move to follow her, she was following the path along the edge of the bookcases of the mezzanine. She didn't know where she was going, but the impulse to run was building, as Darcy, finally snapping out of his confusion, had run up the steps and was in earnest pursuit.

Having followed the wall of the library back to its junction with the main building, she knew she would soon be trapped. A happily placed door in the wall at the end led her out into the dazzling brightness of the picture gallery. She took off, not a moment too soon, as she heard Mr. Darcy's footsteps on the wooden floorboards. Eyes focused on the end, she sprinted down its length, cursing her heavy walking boots for their weight. Her advantage on Mr. Darcy was lost now. He was faster than her, pounding down the hall like he didn't care who was listening. Exalted ancestors frowned down at her in disapproval as Elizabeth raced past them, half joyfully, half panicking as his footsteps were getting closer.

She reached the end, though. She knew she could not evade him for long, but she had reached that goal. She crossed the landing at the top of the stairs and into the private wing of the house that housed the bedrooms. Another long hall stretched out before her, inviting her to take flight. She did not look back, but knew that he had backed off in the chase; she no longer heard him running behind her.

At the end of the corridor, she found herself trapped, with only a servants' entrance through which to escape: a line she knew not to cross. Her heart was thumping, even in this playful chase. Darcy did not look playful now, though, as she turned around and saw him. He had slowed to a walk and was taking his time. He tormented her with the wait and she fidgeted and shifted, looking around for an escape. He was getting too close and she backed away from him, edging towards one of the doors.

"Not that one," he called, as she reached behind her back for the knob, keeping him in her sights all the while. He stopped in his tracks and jutted his chin towards a room across the hall. She followed his direction with her eyes, and looked back to him once more. Both were silent, both still: both tense and ready. Her first step would be the starter's pistol and she knew that this time he would not yield. And so, she ran; bolting across the hall and into the room, before he could reach her. She didn't try to lock the door or even close it—what would be the fun in that.

It was a bedroom, his bedroom she knew. It was dark, and plush and warm and she ran into the middle of it and waited.

* * *

He was standing in the door when she turned around enjoying the sight of her here in his apartment, licking his lips in anticipation. He moved towards her and she was suddenly nervous. She was breathing hard, whereas he was calm; she had won the race—the chase—but he was acting as if he had triumphed. He stalked towards her.

With a cheeky grin he uttered "Forgive me," in a tone that suggested anything but apology, and swiftly lifted her off of her feet. He carried her towards the thick bed, on which he deposited her with great enthusiasm. His hands were under her skirts before the bed had ceased to bounce and he trailed his way up her legs, lips alternating between her inner thighs and a hand on each hip. She had been out all day; she was sweaty and musty, but she didn't care. She was drunk on his admiration, his proven and tested attraction. He attempted to kiss around her mons, still teasing, still trying to gain the upper hand, but she wasn't having any of that. She squirmed up the bed to prevent him moving up her stomach and opened her legs wide, leaving him in no doubt of her wishes.

Laughing at her enthusiasm, he dived in, lapping his tongue up her slit. He didn't attempt to separate her lips and the indirect stimulation sent her wild. Why would he not just do it like she wanted; stick his tongue up her quim, straining for entrance, or pursue that startling little nub to completion. He teased her mercilessly for a time, but by the time she screamed out her pleasure, he was done with his games and as eager for it as she.

Elizabeth felt serene; her limbs were heavy on the mattress and Darcy's head, soft on her thigh. When he rose, she could see his anticipation as he gently, but firmly held her by the hips and encouraged her to move up in the bed. She now lay with her head on the pillows, where his own head must lie every night, as he knelt at her feet, rubbing her bent knee. He would not go any further, she knew, until she began.

There was no hesitation, on her part, no final doubt to overcome when she pulled him towards her. She tugged at his cravat, amusing him with her growing frustration, and settled for unbuttoning his coat as he undid the over-tightened knot.

Undressing him was a game, tactile and playful. His bare chest was a revelation, thatched with black hair that disappeared into his breeches. His smooth sides were ticklish to her kisses and his stomach wrinkled adorably when he leaned towards her.

Now it was her turn and their light-heartedness ended immediately. This was serious work. Wanting to see what he'd make of it, she let him take the lead. He couldn't resist kissing her shoulder as he drew her unlaced frock down around her waist and he constantly touched her somewhere on her bare skin. Her breasts were presented on a platter, erupting from her obliging stays, and Elizabeth didn't feel the need to remove them. Mr. Darcy thought otherwise. He laid her on her back and diligently unlaced them in their entirety. He slipped her out of her various layers- overhead, under foot, stays opened out like shutters. His ardour increased with every layer unwrapped and in the end he almost ripped her out of her petticoat and stockings. She found herself naked; cool and raw on the embroidered counterpane.

"The nakedness of woman is the work of God." His words were no more than a whisper **(11)**.

He marvelled and he explored. No part of her was neglected, from the folds of her bellybutton to the mole on her left buttock. Her breasts, of course, were captivating to him. He worshipped them with his eyes and his hands, comparing their heft and examining their quiver. His mouth followed—his lips and his tongue—and he was soon suckling on her nipples and laving the raised areolae with his dragging tongue.

He removed his breeches himself, rising from the bed to free himself from his boots and she finally got an unobstructed view of his instrument. She had once heard it called a _sugar stick_ , by the woman who they drafted in on washing day as she made filthy banter over the tub.

She wouldn't call it a stick—that would suggest it was slender, brittle, when in fact it was substantial and insistent: a hearty lump of flesh that stood, ready for business. Mr. Darcy seemed to hold his breath as she reached out to touch it, dancing her fingers over it, at first, afraid to take a firm hold. He didn't rush her, or push her to do more than explore. When she was finished, she kissed the tip, taking the opportunity to enjoy the smell as well as the taste of him and then lay back in the bed.

When he entered her, Darcy's face was a vision of wonder. He wanted to watch her, to feel her, to touch every part of her. She was warm and moist, as he remembered, but more than that, she was tender, as she never had been before. No longer did she lie rigid and barely tolerant; she undulated and partook of their passion, moulding herself to him as they savoured their intimacy. Darcy relished the way she clung to him, fingers digging into his flesh, as she rested her cheek against his and whispered precious nothings in his ear.

He remembered to pull out before he came, groaning deeply in frustration and satisfaction. It was Elizabeth's turn to gaze in awe at God's creation, as he convulsed before her through an exquisite demise.

"I cannot wait for the day when that's no longer necessary," he muttered when he had regained some composure. The mess on her stomach and the eruption that caused it were fascinating to Elizabeth and she prodded a finger into the viscous milk. Darcy quickly found a cloth to clean her up, kissing her clean tummy when he was done.

He climbed back over Elizabeth and lay on top of her, leaning his weight on his arms, kissing her clavicle and the top of her breasts. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation. The tension she felt growing in him impinged on her bliss and she opened her eyes lazily to find him staring down at her.

"I once would have thought that the answer to my next question was a forgone conclusion, but I know you well enough by now to say that that isn't the case."

He was attempting levity, but she could see the strain in his jaw.

With real apprehension in his eyes, Mr. Darcy spoke desperately. "Elizabeth, would you marry me?"

She was almost overcome with emotion—so contradictory to what she had once felt; yet her joy was bruised by reminiscences of their mutual past. She looked up at this anxious man—panicking more with every second that ticked by on the mantel clock—and she knew that he was not what she had originally thought. They had not yet broached the subject of their former actions, and so their absolution was incomplete—but that absolution, and the resulting union seemed inevitable. Her most pertinent thought was that she wanted to relieve his misery, when she said, "I would and I will". She said no more. She had no grand professions right now: he just needed to know.

Mr. Darcy gazed from one of her eyes to the other, searching for the truth. He nodded slightly when he found it and seemed to fall into a daze. Lowering his head to her breasts, his shoulders began to shake. _Is he laughing?_ The shuddering continued, broken only by a convulsive sob and Elizabeth realised: _He's weeping._

Every guilty feeling she had ever experienced, every acrimonious exchange between them and miserable recrimination crushed her, more than Darcy's weight on her chest ever could. She did the only thing that occurred to her: she clung to his curls, anchoring his head to her bosom, and wrapped her legs around him. His trembling shook her and his weeping overwhelmed her; she broke down crying and, together, they shuddered quietly into sleep.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

 **1)** Although Jane Austen has Elizabeth walking all over the place, she writes in one of her letters to her sister Cassandra about taking a long walk, unaccompanied, and how shocked she is at herself: Jane Austen: A Life; Tomalin, C (1997). (That's a brilliant book by the way. I'd recommend it.)

 **2)** Turnpike road: A road on which all travellers in vehicles had to pay a toll or fee for the use of the road: the 'main' road. The vehicles had to stop from time to time at wooden gates where the toll was collected. This money was used for improving the roads: Pride and Prejudice, Austen, J. edited by Sunanda Dutta; . /Tollhouses%20of%

 **3)** This view Elizabeth is seeing is based on a photo of the Derbyshire countryside I found: . , or canola as it is known in the US was popular at the time as a 'break' crop to rest the land while keeping weeds down and improving the soil. It was rarely eaten as the strains available at the time were not suitable for human consumption: lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2012/jun/12/rise-of-rapeseed-oil

 **4)** This is Marianne's justification for riding alone in a carriage with Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility.

 **5)** The description of the folly is based on one in the grounds of Highclere Castle (location for Downton Abbey). Its name is Jackdaw's Castle and is seen several times in the show: .ie/pin/38913984253717979/

 **6)** Stanage Edge is a famous inland rockcliff in the Peak District. It was used as a location for the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, when Kiera Knightley stands on the edge and looks out.

 **7)** I have modelled the library on the Long Room in Trinity College, Dublin- albeit a scaled down version to fit in a private home rather than a university. The distinguishing features of an arched roof and two storeys of bookshelves would be the same: .c0m/culture/books/a-remarkable-chapter-trinity-college-library-dublin-a-history-1.1895833

 **8)** A legal deposit is a legal requirement in many countries that all new published copyrighted books be submitted to certain repositories, usually libraries. In the UK, for example, a copy of all newly published books must be submitted to the British Library, and five other libraries are entitled to apply for a copy within a year of publication. Mr. Darcy is obviously being facetious here.

 **9)** At this time, wealthy book-buyers would have their books custom bound, often to match the section of library that they would be kept in. The title would be on the spine rather than the front cover, which may be designed or plain. I considered that Mr. Darcy might have sourced a first edition, but as the book was only about twenty years old at this point, I wasn't sure how valuable or practical that would be.

 **10)** In descriptions of kissing forfeits for parlour games, they don't use the word kiss- they call it saluting. Kissing was often a forfeit for losing a game, and- I suspect- the whole point of playing. /wordpress/2013/09/wicked-little-parlor-games-from-1837/

 **11)** 'The nakedness of woman is the work of God': from _Proverbs of Hell_ , a poem in _'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'_ , by William Blake and the one that they were reading in the library.

* * *

I hope that'll satisfy the pervs in the audience, who've been grumbling about the lack of sex recently. I know it looks like they're wrapping things up, but don't get too complacent. They're not done yet.

Reviews are always welcome and brighten my day. I'm never more motivated than when I see that message on my phone letting me know someone has taken the time to comment.

I'm particularly interested in what you think of Elizabeth and Darcy getting back together and her accepting his proposal before they've worked out all the kinks.

I haven't even started the next chapter, so I can make no promises, but I hope to speak to you all again very soon.


	20. Chapter 20

I'm finally back. I don't know what it is about beds, but whenever D&E get near one they seem to be stuck there for months

Thank you to all of the readers who have contacted me while I was away from writing. I'd like to thank myshlp as always for being my little cheerleader and giving me the kick up the bum I need to write when I'm out of contact for too long.

This chapter is quite a talky one, so, while you'll get a lot of insight into what the hell Mr. Darcy has been thinking, there isn't much progress in terms of time, or even getting out of the room. But this chapter is sort of a recap on the major events between Elizabeth and Darcy through their explanations.

As always I welcome your feedback. Reviews are like a drug to me. Everyone says it, but they really do make writing the story easier and (dare I be a bit manipulative and say) speedier.

For those who have been wondering, this is not the last chapter in the story and it will be 25 chapters long altogether, so if you don't feel you can do with any more complications for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy perhaps you had better read no further. For the rest of you, enjoy.

* * *

 **Recap**

After meeting Mr. Darcy at Netherfield while walking close to Pemberley, Elizabeth Bennet takes him up on his offer to visit the house. While there, she visits the library and, over a reading of Blake's poetry and after a flirty chase through Pemberleys halls, they make love in his bed. She accepts his renewed offer of marriage and they both break down crying.

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy were so closely entwined on the bed that one's waking immediate roused the other. They embraced still, not yet ready to give up this moment of repose.

Mr. Darcy could feel the tracks of his own tears dried on his cheeks, and felt foolish now that the immediacy of the emotion was behind him. He was still nestled in Elizabeth Bennet's bosom and was not eager to leave it: he neither wanted to separate from her bounteous flesh, nor to face her after his unseemly descent into mawkishness. Thank goodness Elizabeth had not seen his face crumpled in anguish, though her own sobs soon after had assured him that she shared in his distress.

He did, however, feel brighter after his nap, knowing that Elizabeth had finally relieved his misery and agreed to take him, despite the schism that remained unresolved between them.

When he rolled off of her with a grunt to check the time, Mr. Darcy delighted in Elizabeth's immediately clinging to his side, her head pillowed on his arm. She looked up at him through sleepy eyes and smiled. He imagined her glance to be an oeillade, but did not yet feel confident in his intuition **(1)**.

Elizabeth could not say that she felt bright. She was bewildered by their sudden engagement and the awkwardness of their flagrant pose on the bed, but had felt oddly comfortable in spite of this, as she had reached consciousness. She now rubbed his smooth sides—on which she was quickly becoming fixated—tracing the subtle hump of every rib. She said into his chest, when she had plucked up the courage, "I want to hear a story."

Mr. Darcy responded with a raised brow, angling his neck to try and catch her eye.

"Tell me about your love for me," she requested plainly, successfully avoiding his eye until after she had spoken.

Elizabeth did not exactly doubt Mr. Darcy's love, after all that he had endured to get her, but she wanted to know what he was thinking, during those dark days at Netherfield and what he had thought of her actions ever since.

With a sigh, he looked up at the ceiling and Elizabeth did not know if he would refuse to speak of it—such diffidence would not surprise her, from such a private man. Nor from a man on whose heart she had only a few months ago trampled. They had agreed to come together forever, and still there were walls between them.

"Is it the story of my love, or my lust that you wish to hear; because the latter is a much simpler story, though much more painful to recount. The two are so interwoven that I cannot tell you where one ended and the other began; I cannot fix on the hour, or the look that made me fall in love with you, nor the words which laid the foundation for my fascination."

"I am glad that you did eventually fall in love with me, but the two are not mutually exclusive, you know: I don't believe your lust has entirely forsaken you," Elizabeth quipped, "but even that is a mystery to me, since you so publically withstood my beauty. And as for my manners—if I had been welcoming they might have encouraged your attachment—but as it is, I was positively spiteful."

"Maidenly reluctance with a touch of irreverence —or so I chose to interpret it… You must have thought me very foolish for not seeing your true feelings."

"I don't think your lapse in discernment was due to any want of intelligence—wishful thinking, perhaps?"

"And what of my actions: can you attribute those to so benign a cause?"

"I have no wish to excuse your actions, merely to understand them. Besides, I did not acquit myself with any grace either—up to and including my behaviour on the day of your proposal at Hunsford.

"I knew, by then, of your affections and I disregarded them," Elizabeth spoke more seriously. "I was inexcusably rude, and I should never have lured you into further relations. So you see you cannot have all the shame to yourself, Mr. Darcy. I cannot have you taking my share."

She really was ashamed of her part in their affair, but she could not bring herself to feel too badly about their past at this moment. He had apologised and so had she; and now they were to be married. Elizabeth was far enough removed from the evil events that she did not feel she should give any more weight to it than that.

"You may easily speak with such levity," Mr. Darcy responded, "but I cannot be so easily reconciled with myself. The recollection of what I then said and did—of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of our early acquaintance—is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me.

"Your reproof, so justified, I shall never forget: 'the most arrogant and censorious man of my acquaintance,' you called me. You know not how I have been tortured by your pronouncement that I had never shown any love for you and had taken advantage of your innocence."

"Please do not repeat what I said then. I assure you that I have long been heartily ashamed of it."

"You were right. Every act, every thought was for my own benefit and relief, without regard to your feelings or reputation."

"I had no idea that my words would be taken in such a way," Elizabeth now regretted bringing up the topic at all, as it was evidently yet too fresh for him to begin to forgive himself.

"In the library that day…I will not attempt to justify what I did with my own delusions: I convinced myself that I was doing no harm—even that I was doing good—if you can believe that.

"A stray intelligence from some unknown recess of my memory; that word I scarcely knew that I knew— _hysteria **(2)**._ It came from some forgotten...some damned book or other and it allowed me to label my molestation charity and nullify your wishes. Know that I no longer believe that I was doing anything but violating you that morning in the library.

"If you are agreeable, I will not dwell any longer on my iniquities that day, other than to say that I am deeply remorseful. What I did; it was unforgivable and I cannot quite believe that you could ever pardon me."

"I took your lack of a violent reaction for consent," Darcy continued, "your physical arousal, for permission, because it allowed me to convince myself that my accosting you was in your best interests." He was almost compulsive now, in his need to unburden himself of his guilty deeds.

"My timing was obscene. The shock of your father's death put you in an almost catatonic state and I used that for my own ends."

Elizabeth had felt no anger in asking him to explain himself, but as he made his account, she was reminded of the pain that had accompanied their acquaintance before this week and, in particular, the aching recollection of how it had tainted and intruded on her grief for her father.

She moved on to her back and studied the brocaded canopy of Mr. Darcy's bed as she contemplated the damage that _The Incident in the Library_ had done to her peace of mind; affecting her even to this day. Mr. Darcy's arm lay beneath her, but she no longer sought further physical connection to him as she mulled over her tangled emotions.

"You seemed pretty unrepentant when we discussed the subject last April," she finally said. Elizabeth was surprised at her own bitterness. She had thought that it had been rubbed away—gently, but persistently—since her arrival in Derbyshire; she had been joking with him only moments before.

She was detaching from him, Darcy could feel it, both in body and mind. He would not make the mistake of clinging to her. He would not force her to keep her word and marry him, but neither could he live with himself if he did not do his utmost to convey to her the profundity of his remorse and the fundamental revolution that she had affected on his character. He sighed heavily.

"It wasn't until I returned to London and saw Georgiana again for the first time since our argument—after writing your letter and re-living that ordeal—that I contemplated my actions from another point of view.

"I had the disturbing realisation that I had acted towards you just as Mr. Wickham had towards my sister; that I was worse, because I had convinced myself, not only that I was in the right, but that I was the injured party."

He shivered at the memory of his own actions and closed his eyes tightly. It was difficult for Elizabeth to sustain her anger with Mr. Darcy when he berated himself far more thoroughly than she could at that moment. And she was mildly vexed by it. She did, however, have questions that she would have answered.

"You have at different times implied that I am wanton for engaging in this affair. You once apologised for voicing these thoughts, but have never denied them. What is your true opinion of me?" She looked him square in the face, daring him to prevaricate. Fortunately, he was in no humour to do anything of the sort and too eager to placate her to risk her ire through falsehoods.

"Any censure of your actions, or implication that your desires were exceptionable, was nothing but a reflection of my struggles with my own lust and an attempt to blame you for my weaknesses. You have never done, nor could you do anything that would shake my regard for your person, which is of the highest order."

Before she could interject, Mr. Darcy continued his address.

"You are the most naturally bewitching woman I have ever met. Your wit and integrity were immediately obvious to me and you were the first woman to ever show me what it could be to have a partner rather than a dependent for a wife, before I thought that such a thing was preferable, or even possible.

"My love for you has endured every possible obstacle, from my own sabotage to the unequivocal and justified rejection from the object of my deepest affections. It is keen enough that I will not hold you to your previous acceptance of my offer, gratifying as it was to hear, and heartfelt as my offer was and still is. If you do not feel that marrying me would constitute your happiness, I shall not hold you to it."

Elizabeth watched him breathing heavily after his rushed speech in an effort to counteract the rising panic abetted by his own invitation of her rejection. His Adam's apple bobbed repeatedly and as she watched his vulnerability openly on display, she remembered. She remembered the insight his letter had given her, her discussion with Jane regarding Darcy's behaviour and the intentions behind it, and all that had occurred since her re-acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She remembered that he had shown her nothing but tenderness, and her family, nothing but respect, since coming across them at Pemberley. His offer to release her from their betrothal and his willingness to shed his mask and bear himself as an open wound to her, was entirely in keeping with Mr. Darcy's character as she now understood it.

"You are not like Mr. Wickham," she sighed in resignation, referencing his previous point for want of any good response to his compliments, or his offer to part. "You have done wrong, but you did not make false promises to me, or seek to profit from association with me. You wished, in a misguided way, to help and satisfy me—to care for me, even, while also meeting some need of your own in trying to maintain control over yourself by controlling me. You were wrong—most decidedly wrong—but your motives were not wholly bad and you did the right thing in the end. You have also faced up to your faults and have forgiven me mine, which Mr. Wickham would never do. Rather than shower me with compliments, he would think the worst of me in your situation and enjoy doing it. Neither would he jeopardise his own happiness for the sake of another."

She had not replied to his offer to break the engagement and Mr. Darcy did not want to further the topic, for fear of reminding her of plans which were not to his purpose—he would respect her decision, if she were to leave him, but he was not going to offer himself up again for her annihilation. He was no saint!

"Worse than all that I have done," said Mr. Darcy, determined to flagellate himself further, despite Elizabeth's efforts to forgive him, "is that I convinced myself that, because I had never done anything like that before, that the break in my usual restraint was proof that my response to you, so visceral and overpowering, was beyond my control. I felt that I should not be held to the same principles as a man not under your spell."

Elizabeth resisted the powerful urge to query what exactly he meant by 'never having done anything like that before': he was entitled to his privacy and she firmly believed that his past life was not her business. She knew enough of men's habits to wish that she did not.

Darcy continued his confession, oblivious to her discomfort on that subject. "I thought that I had exposed my vulnerability in showing you any attention at all and that the fact that I was willing to do that was proof of our connection—a connection that would indicate that I wasn't taking advantage of you." He shook his head at his own foolishness: a connection entirely of his own imagining.

"I have never before or since felt that I had brought such shame to my family name and squandered my father's faith in me, which he was so good to impress on me with his dying words. That I have failed him so terribly is something that I will have to live with and can never undo."

"Why did you leave Netherfield?" Elizabeth asked. She knew that she was provoking and upsetting him in continuing this conversation, but she wanted to have nothing left unearthed between them.

"I was scared. Every time I saw you, I had such a profound desire to throw myself at your feet and beg you to take me to your bed that it petrified me and I knew I had to leave or ruin you."

What power she had wielded and had never, until now, fully understood. What could she have done with such power if she had been more grasping or less decent? She was inclined to now agree with Jane in pitying the man who had left Hunsford last April, the man who was spurned by the woman he had had, and come to love, but could not keep.

"And when did you decide that you wanted to marry me?" she asked, remembering that he had not yet mentioned more than the desire to take her to bed.

"When I first saw you at Rosings, I was annoyed that you had come back to taunt me, but you enchanted me once again." He began twisting one of Elizabeth's curls around his finger absentmindedly as he spoke. "Within a sevennight, I could no longer countenance leaving Rosings without you and going back to life as it had been. When I saw you flirting with Colonel Fitzwilliam, I knew I could never bear to see you wed another man."

"I was not flirting!" After a withering look from Mr. Darcy, "Well, perhaps a little; but there was nothing in it; and that did not give you the right to sow dissent and convince each that they had injured the other."

"No, that was not my finest hour. Colonel Fitzwilliam was none too pleased with me either. I did not explain myself to him, but I think he realised well enough the reasons for my odd behaviour. If we had not been so close and if he had not suspected my feelings for you, I think he would have called me out after seeing your reception of my letter. That was petty of me, by the by—not to deliver it to you myself. And he has been very cool with me ever since. So, you see, I did pay for my deceit."

"Excellent. You faced the consequences, which is the greatest deterrent from re-offending. Not to mention that you are a terrible liar. So you should think better of such a scheme in future."

Mr. Darcy could see that Elizabeth was calming, returning to her natural levity, but she was not a simple woman and her interactions were often layered, with a veneer of outward good humour and impertinent wit cloaking more unpleasant feelings underneath. He could not be sure of her final clemency just yet.

"Perhaps it is because I am so blind to others' motivations and wishes that I cannot lie convincingly. I did not even consider, in my vanity, that you would refuse my proposal."

"That must have only multiplied your disappointment. You were very angry when you left my cousin's house."

"I was an ass. But yes, I was—though more hurt than angry—and even that soon turned towards a more rightful target."

Darcy then mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he "did it make you think any better of me?"

"Its initial effect was to make me think poorer of Mr. Wickham. I never doubted that part of the story. I cannot say that all of my prejudices and grievances were removed, but on reading your account of your sister's troubles, and seeing your worry and affection for her, I began to feel that there could be another side to your character which I had previously overlooked. In doing so, I saw that perhaps there was some justice to your other claims, particularly with regards to my family's situation and Bingley's inconstancy."

The one claim to which Elizabeth had never fully reconciled herself, despite Mr. Darcy's compelling argument was that he was justified in not doing more to convince Bingley that Jane loved him. She could not, for her sister's sake, accept that her abandonment could be explained by the simple fact that Bingley had not loved her enough.

"If you knew of his suffering these last months, you would not call Bingley inconstant. He is merely guilty of extreme humility and lack of confidence in his own judgement. His disappointment has only been ameliorated by his being at liberty to bombard me with his thoughts and gain succour, as he does from such talk, in a way that I have not been free or eager to reciprocate."

"And where has Mr. Bingley gone now?" Elizabeth asked.

"On the evening of his party's arrival, I made a confession to him which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of my mistake in evaluating your sister's feelings for him and my certain knowledge of Miss Bennet's distress at his leaving Netherfield. His surprise was great, as was his anger towards his sisters, who he now knows lied audaciously."

"Did he not wonder how you came by this information?"

"Not at first—he was so shocked and delighted to hear it, but at length, he did begin to wonder. I managed to prevaricate, though, and he became distracted by the realisation of his sisters' deception. He may suspect something between us, but there was not another chance to discuss it."

"So your proficiency in deception has increased? I'm not sure if that is a skill I would like you to cultivate."

"If the height of my ability is to deceive a distracted and lovesick Bingley, than I doubt you have anything to fear," Mr. Darcy replied, glad to see her joking once again.

"He has taken the whole family to Scarborough, where he intends to deposit them before leaving for Netherfield."

"Then, perhaps I may not be the only betrothed Bennet for long."

Darcy could not answer through the inane smile that spread slowly across his face. It was the first time that she had said the word: betrothed, they were truly betrothed! Still betrothed! She had been given the opportunity to renege on her promise and she had chosen to stay.

Elizabeth smiled directly back at him for the first time since their discussion had begun and it was too much to bear. Mr. Darcy buried his head in her hair, nuzzling her in thanks for her acceptance, once again, of his touch and his suit.

* * *

They made love once more, the risk of detection and their recent quarrel lending an edge to their otherwise gentle coupling. Their bodies rocked together with the rhythm of a gentle swell, occasionally disturbed by the spasm of one body or another in a moment of rapturous surrender.

Mr. Darcy was still joined with her, kissing and nibbling Elizabeth's plump skin, when the dressing room door burst open in the unconcerned manner of a man clearly not expecting to meet anyone on the other side.

Elizabeth had never felt as mortified as she did on witnessing Murray, Mr. Darcy's valet entering the room, holding a waistcoat and brush. He stopped dead when he noticed the couple wrapped in both each other and the bed clothes, under which they had thankfully retired some time ago. His eyes froze on Elizabeth in an initial flustered reaction. Thankfully they did not tarry for long, but he recognised her—she knew he did.

The man was older than Darcy, but certainly not elderly, and her mortification was extreme at the idea that another man should see her in the manner in which none but her fiancé had before. Rather than run from the room, as she would have done, Murray then met his master's astonished gaze with a steely glare of his own, inconceivably bald for a servant.

Mr. Darcy did not miss the implied censure, even as he sought to wrap himself completely around Elizabeth, to shade her from the servant's view.

Eventually he gathered his wits enough to cry, "Good God Murray! Out man! And close the door behind you." The valet finally did so, his every movement broadcasting his displeasure and disappointment.

Elizabeth was in shock. Mr. Darcy dropped his head over her shoulder and onto the pillow chuckling in embarrassment. It was through his jerking movements as his whole body shook with laughter that Elizabeth realised—Mr. Darcy was still sheathed inside her and had been the entire time that Mr. Murray had been in the room!

"Oh God!" she muttered covering her eyes with her arm and the pair sniggered together.

The mood had been broken and it was not long after that that they decided to get up. The beautiful summer's day was waning and Elizabeth would need to leave before Mr. Darcy's guests returned. They helped each other to dress and Mr. Darcy began to regret being so thorough in disrobing Elizabeth when he had to replace her corset and hook every eye.

She had the presence of mind to straighten the bedclothes before they left. As she was fussing with the counterpane, Mr. Darcy leaned over her shoulder from behind and wrapped his arms around her.

"Please do not fret over Murray, my love."

 _My love._ The phrase thrilled her, even as much as it frightened her to hear it.

"He will not expose us. He is just disappointed in me. I mentioned to you once that he aided me in gaining access to your room at Netherfield, but I never told you that his collusion cost me days of icy silences at the dressing table. He even attempted to dissuade me from following through with my plan that night. Would that he had succeeded," he muttered remembering the setting down he had then received from her.

"He has been with me since I began university and takes great pride in his work. He had thought that he had navigated me through the most trying years—when a boy is apt to form degenerate habits as he grows into a man—only to find that at the ripe old age of twenty seven, I was becoming a libertine and now had designs on a genteel young woman—a guest in my own friend's household.

"You would not believe the speed with which he packed when I told him that I was leaving Netherfield: I believe he imagined that he had done great work in managing to extricate me from you with both of our reputations intact."

Mr. Darcy kissed her on the head and took her hand, guiding her towards the door. "He will not say a word—and certainly not to me; not for some time."

"Will he be pleased or appalled, do you think, when he learns that we are to marry?"

After a moment's consideration Mr. Darcy replied, "Murray was very concerned for your welfare at Netherfield and he will feel relieved on your behalf, especially after what he witnessed today. He will be glad to know that my intentions are honourable, and delighted to see that my devotion to you is far deeper than the selfish lust he saw in me at Netherfield."

 _Yes,_ Elizabeth mused, contemplating, not just his valet's anticipated pleasure at their betrothal, but that of her general acquaintance. _For what more could any woman want, than a man who loves her?_

* * *

 **Footnotes**

1) Oeillade: a glance of the eye in flirtation.

2) The term hysteria as seen in the title of this story was used to describe a disease characterised by a variety of symptoms that were exclusive to women, one of which was sexual desire. Yes, as odd as it seems, for hundreds, if not thousands of years a woman wanting to have sex was seen as a disease. Other symptoms included nervousness, faintness, insomnia, the desire to stretch, feeling cold and the urge to cry or laugh immoderately. In the 19th century, women went to gynaecologists who administered 'treatments' not unlike Mr. Darcy has done in this story. This basically involved masturbating the woman to climax to release the 'female semen', which was believed to become venomous if not released through intercourse or climax.

https[colon forward slash forward slash] /wiki/Female_hysteria

Although the treatment of hysteria is more commonly associated with the Victorian era, Rachel Maines has posited that, as hysteria was associated with the sexual organs from the classical era, doctors from that time to the 20th century commonly treated it through masturbation. I imagine that Mr. Darcy found some reference to it in his massive library.

3) During my general research I found this article analysing the characters of Pride and Prejudice in relation to the Myers Briggs Type Indicators: ( _http[colon forward slash forward slash double-u x3 dot]_ ).

For those who are unfamiliar with MBTI, it analyses a personality based on Carl Jung's theory and categorises them into 16 different groups based on their position on four continua: extrovert/introvert; intuitive/observant; thinking/feeling; and judging/prospecting. See _16personalities.c0m_ for more info.

The jasna article argued that Darcy is in the INFJ group: that is introverted (duh), intuitive (abstract rather than concrete oriented), thinking (prioritising logic over feeling), and judging (decisive and seeking structure and order, not wanting to keep options open). There is pretty much universal agreement with this conclusion, from what I've read, but Elizabeth is a bit more difficult to categorise.

The same article claims her to be INFJ, differing from Darcy's group only in that she is feeling oriented. The idea that they are so similar may be initially jarring, but they display a lot of similar tendencies, albeit manifesting themselves in different ways.

While Darcy is the classic introvert, the most debated aspect of Elizabeth's character is her introversion and she is often wrongly characterised as extrovert. This mistakes introversion for lack of social skills. Though they are related, introversion actually refers to an inward focus of energy. Introverts expend energy in social situations, rather than gaining energy from them. This explains Elizabeth's love of solitary walks: though she enjoys social interaction and is comfortable in society, she is often self-reflective and her walks allow her the space to analyse her feelings. She is actually quite guarded and really only bares herself to Jane.

Her study of character shows her intuitive side—trying to fit others' words and actions into a pattern—as does her engagement in hypothetical arguments with Darcy at Netherfield. Their shared intuitive traits are what allow Darcy and Elizabeth to challenge each other intellectually.

Elizabeth's feeling orientation may be best demonstrated by her refusal of Darcy at Hunsford and Darcy's thinking orientation prevents him from predicting her refusal. As an aside, I don't think that we, as a modern audience, fully understand the folly Elizabeth demonstrated in refusing Darcy. When she asks Jane if she thinks badly of her for it, it's not just an idle question. Any right thinking person who was any way prudent would have thought that she was crazy for refusing him. I don't think we can conceive of the fear of destitution and the value placed on stability in a world where even the most basic physical needs were not guaranteed and a gentlewoman had no way to ever earn her own money. I read an excellent article on this topic once, but I couldn't find it when I went back and googled it.

Elizabeth and Darcy's judging functions—their rush to judgement on the world around them—is what gets them into trouble in the story.

As my interest was piqued, I took the test online myself and it turns out that I'm an INTJ, just like Darcy. That would explain why I find it much easier to write him than Elizabeth. I then did the test on my boyfriend and he turned out to be INFJ, so we are the gender swap equivalent of D&E!

A lot of fictional villains are INTJ, so I feel a bit better about my more extreme Darcy, who many believe is OOC, but all this has got me thinking about how I've been writing Elizabeth. Perhaps she is even more OOC than Darcy, too calculating and cold, with not enough compassion? Let me know what you think _(If anyone is still reading)._

More detailed profiles of D&E's MBTI can be found here ( _http[colon forward slash forward slash] .c0m/post/32460673648/mr-darcy_ )and here( _http[colon forward slash forward slash] .c0m/search/elizabeth+bennet_ ).

As I mentioned earlier in the comments, I've had a number of other ideas for other P&P fics mulling around in my head: one where Elizabeth is married to Mr. Collins and another time-travelling story, so I look forward to using what I've learned from their profiles to stretch the characters in these new situations.


	21. Chapter 21

This one is quite footnotey, for those who like that.

 **Recap**

After Mr. Bennet and Mary's deaths, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional relationship at Netherfield, before he leaves suddenly for London, taking Bingley with him. Kitty later marries Mr. Collins, who agrees to allow the Bennet's to remain Longbourn for the time being. After reconnecting with Elizabeth at Rosings, Mr. Darcy proposes. He is disbelieving of her refusal and their argument soon develops into passionate, but angry sex. They fight over Mr. Wickham, and Darcy's involvement in Bingley leaving Netherfield. Darcy accuses Elizabeth of using him to satisfy her baser urges and refuses to continue their tryst until he can clarify her feelings for him. She is blunt in her dislike of his haughty behaviour and he leaves declaring he will never see her again. He has Colonel Fitzwilliam deliver a letter to her the next day in which he explains his involvement with Wickham and Bingley. Elizabeth and Jane both return home to Longbourn where Elizabeth tells her about her affair with Darcy. Jane is initially angry, but tries to see the problem from both sides, criticising Elizabeth's treatment of Darcy as well as his own conduct. She is convinced of Darcy's love for Elizabeth, but Elizabeth is still sceptical. While holidaying with her aunt and uncle in Derbyshire Elizabeth encounters a changed Mr. Darcy at Pemberley. She comes to rethink her opinion of him. They make love at Pemberley and Darcy proposes. Elizabeth accepts, though she still has reservations about their relationship. All rights reserved © 2017

 **Chapter 21**

The pair slipped out the door and walked hand-in-hand down the corridor. Mr. Darcy marvelled at how small and fine Elizabeth's hand felt in his. He eventually placed that hand on his arm before walking down the stairs and out the door. The vestibule was suspiciously lacking in servants, but Mr. Darcy was too happy to be concerned. He collected the curricle himself and they drove back to Lambton in the evening sun.

They agreed that he would speak to Elizabeth's uncle on the morrow. She pecked him on the cheek and alighted at the outskirts of Lambton before Mr. Darcy could trouble himself to aid her, sprinting the short journey back to the inn. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had not returned when she arrived, but a letter awaited her from Jane. She opened it promptly, eagerly anticipating the pleasure of reading it.

The introduction contained an account of all the family's little parties and engagements with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, conveyed more troubling intelligence:

 _Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. I have found out, by way of Kitty—who has had it in a letter from Lydia herself—that she has been meeting in secret with one of the officers; to own the truth, with Mr. Wickham!_

Elizabeth's first feeling, in her state of shock, was surprise at Lydia having willingly written a letter. She was proud, though, that Kitty had had enough sense to report the scheme to Jane.

 _I approached Lydia with the letter and she, apart from being very angry with Kitty and me, did not have much to say on the matter. She did, at length, admit that she has been meeting Mr. Wickham, and she led me to believe that she intends to run away with him to Gretna Green. She shows no remorse, Lizzy, and I cannot convince her that what she is doing is dangerous, or even indecorous. She is determined to have him. What his feelings are, I do not know._

 _I am willing to hope for the best and that Mr. Wickham's character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet, I can easily believe him, but perhaps this plan, if true, at least marks a true affection for Lydia and an intention to rectify their imprudent actions with marriage. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know that our father has left her almost nothing._

 _My dear Lizzy, I know not what to do. I do not believe Mama should know of it as the only positive feature of the whole affair is that their association is not widely known. While I do not doubt that our mother would object to this scheme and attempt to prevent it, I do not think that Mama could keep our troubles to herself in front of the servants. It would shortly be known all over Meryton and Lydia would be ruined._

 _My problem now is who else to turn to for help in dealing with this matter. I did consider our Uncle Phillips, but I do not believe that he would attempt to conduct such a delicate conversation with Lydia without the aid of his wife; and you know that whatever Mrs. Phillips is party to, will soon be shared with Mama as well as half of Meryton._ _Never have I wished for our father more!_

 _Oh Lizzy, I cannot help begging you all to come home. I know that my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner would gladly assist with Lydia, were they here, and would meet with far more success than I have myself, thus far._

 _I only ask as the militia is due to leave for Brighton on the 12_ _th_ _and I fear that Lydia and Mr. Wickham could act before then. I am sure that my uncle can persuade Mr. Wickham of the foolishness of his actions, if indeed he does intend to elope with Lydia. I know my dear aunt and uncle so well, that I am not afraid of requesting their help, though I do regret having interrupted your tour in this most unfortunate way._

When Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner arrived home after a day of visiting and nostalgia, they found Elizabeth in their private parlour. She could not voice her distress and mastered her shaking hands only long enough to hand over her letter. Her aunt and uncle did not initially see it as a cause for much concern and thought her a little dramatic.

They believed Lydia's infatuation was a folly of youth and, while meeting a gentleman alone was inadvisable and enormously reckless, neither believed that anything would come of this plot to elope. They were satisfied that the Mr. Wickham they knew could not sink to the depravity of which Elizabeth was accusing him.

So it was that she was forced to tell them, without revealing the source of her information, that Mr. Wickham—far from being the amiable gentleman-officer that he had presented himself to be—was not the type of man to entrust with a young girl's affections. She relayed, in general terms, his past misdeeds.

From that moment on, Mr. Gardiner took command. He arranged for transport, settled their bill, and sent a polite but ambiguous note taking leave of Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Gardiner penned a similar message to his sister. Elizabeth had not been invited to correspond with her, but Mrs. Gardiner offered to convey a few lines in her own note **(1)**. This proxy communication was as much as she could do for the two young people whose acquaintance she truly wished to forward.

As it was, Elizabeth was at a loss as to what she could write to Georgiana; what message would covertly convey to her brother, whose bed Elizabeth had only recently departed, that she now left the county unwillingly and, possibly, broken-heartedly. The task was beyond her and she declined.

Within the hour, they had set off for home, hoping that they would not be too late. Elizabeth did not know what they would find on their arrival; she only knew that her family's very respectability was in jeopardy and her tenuous betrothal to Mr. Darcy along with it.

* * *

She spent the two and a half days of their journey imagining every possible scenario that they may encounter upon reaching Longbourn, each more calamitous than the last. This occupation had, at least, the unexpected benefit of averting her thoughts from Mr. Darcy. At night, though, as she twisted and turned on a succession of prickly mattresses, it was always Mr. Darcy's face—his person, his expressions, and his sweet words—which shepherded her into sleep **(2)**.

Elizabeth leapt out of the carriage, almost before it had stopped outside Longbourn, but the house and its inhabitants were, outwardly, just as she had left them three weeks before. Their arrival was met by Mrs. Bennet's exclamations of surprise, which were answered with vague references to Mr. Gardiner's business interests. Lydia was not fooled; thus she scowled at them from across the drawing room while tea was called. Jane looked haggard and weary as Mrs. Bennet reported on all of the local gossip, oblivious to the tension around her.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were returning suddenly to London on the pretext of pressing business. They made a surprising offer: they would take their youngest niece with them to London. Lydia's relations had never done so before, due to her age and idiocy, and all but Mrs. Bennet knew why they did so now. Lydia expressed enough surprised delight at the thought of her first trip to Town to avert her mother's suspicion and her consuming obsession with all things London warred with her plans to beat her sisters to the altar.

After the household had retired, Mrs. Gardiner, Lizzy, and Jane proceeded to Lydia's room and attempted to dissuade her from her course. It took ten minutes to induce her to disclose her plans for elopement. There was very little new or productive to be gained from the discussion, but they did at least hear that it was Mr. Wickham who had talked of running away together. Whether he had actually proposed marriage was less clear, though it was evident that Lydia believed this to be his intention **(3)**.

Elizabeth saw a flicker of Mr. Darcy—of all people—in her wayward sister's delusions: Mr. Darcy as he had been last April. She was replicating his error in confusing lust for love and using her own wishes to validate vague insinuations. However, Elizabeth did not think that Lydia would be as responsive to reasoned argument as Mr. Darcy had been. She imagined that Mr. Wickham was also knowingly misleading Lydia to suit his own purposes—in a way that she had not. Whoever was to blame, she felt certain that Lydia did not have the right of the situation.

The trio eventually extracted a half-hearted acknowledgment from Lydia that her plans were—perhaps—ill-advised. No-one was fooled as to Lydia's change of heart, and Jane volunteered to remain with her overnight to keep an eye on her. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner would leave in the morning, taking Lydia with them and away from temptation; and not a moment too soon.

After retiring to her room, Elizabeth was joined by her aunt.

"I think that this will all work out, Lizzy." Mrs. Gardiner whispered, to ensure confidence between them. "When Lydia gets to Town she will forget about Mr. Wickham and he will be gone by the time she returns. So there is no reason for this to affect any of your prospects."

After a pregnant silence, which Elizabeth did not break, Mrs. Gardiner continued, pausing periodically in the hope that her niece would speak. "I rather enjoyed Mr. Bingley's company at Pemberley. He certainly spoke fondly of his time here and I wonder, now that he has been reminded of it, might he return…It may be that he will bring his friend."

This was the most bare-faced allusion to Mr. Darcy's abbreviated courtship that she had ever made; Elizabeth was startled by how much her aunt had seen. _Were we so transparent?_ Mrs. Gardiner's face shone with heart-breaking optimism and Elizabeth felt crippled under the weight of her aunt's hopes for her, not knowing whether they would ever, now, come to fruition.

"Do you think that Lydia would really attempt to bolt in the night?" Elizabeth asked to effect a change of topic.

"I should never have said so three days ago, but I suppose it is as well to be cautious. Dear Jane will look out for her tonight. Nevertheless, I think now that her trunks are packed, she will be looking forward to her visit: I have never known Lydia to forego the inducements of shopping and society, no matter how tempting the alternative. " Knowing that this should soothe her, Elizabeth went off to bed, but she could not shake her gnawing apprehension.

She woke, luxuriating in the comfort of her own bed and listened for a time to the soft snores audible through Longbourn's thin walls. Elizabeth did not immediately realise what had woken her, but the distant creak of a floorboard alerted her to someone on the stairs.

It could be Annie, up early to light the fires, but the tread was too careful. No. Annie would endeavour not to wake the family, but she would be too busy going about her morning tasks to be so tentative. She knew that the prowler had reached the front door by the squeak of its hinges and their pained groan marked an exaggeratedly slow movement—the surest sign of suspicion.

An icy dread gripped Elizabeth, and she was suddenly awake in a way that seemed to deny her slumber of only a few minutes before. She rose carefully, not wishing to wake the house just yet. First, she crossed the hall to Lydia's room and was met with the sight of Jane, passed out in exhaustion in the bed: Lydia was gone and the majority of her wardrobe was strewn across the floor, as if she had taken apart her trunk and re-packed a small bag in a hurry. Lizzy peered out of her window, looking for Lydia, but she was already outside the park boundary.

She shook Jane awake and informed her groggy sister that Lydia had fled. Before racing out the door, she _admonished_ her to wake their aunt and uncle for help. "But mind you do not draw the servants' attention." There was no time to dress and she merely threw on a shawl and laced up her boots. She still had hopes of overtaking Lydia before she had gotten too far from home and of keeping her escape concealed.

Where she had gone was not difficult to predict, or at least to whom she had run. The only question was whether she would go north to meet Mr. Wickham in Meryton or, God forbid, whether they had previously arranged to meet that morning and catch the post en route on the southern road **(4)**.

She thought that, since their arrival had been so unexpected the evening before, it was more likely that she was hot-footing it into Meryton in the hope of effecting a spur-of-the-moment elopement.

Lizzie was almost half a mile down the road, before she began to worry that she had misjudged and that her sister could be even now boarding a stage coach. Still, considering that she was half way to Meryton, there was little she could do but continue and hope that her uncle would think to investigate the southern route.

Finally, Elizabeth glimpsed her sister's red cloak in the distance as Lydia crossed the stone bridge at the entrance to the town and her relief only just outstripped her annoyance. She would not catch Lydia now, before she arrived, but Elizabeth hurried on, in the hope that nobody else would be up and about at this ungodly hour. When she caught her, she would forcibly march Lydia down the road if she had to.

The main street was potholed and deeply rutted. It had rained the night before, so that the surface was muddy and slick; not so deep as in the winter months, but sufficient that Elizabeth was required to take care in her steps and lift her nightdress to avoid the mud.

By the time she turned the corner around which she had seen Lydia scurrying, her sister was rapping insistently on a ground floor window pane. Elizabeth drew up beside her berating her in a hushed voice.

"Lydia, what are you doing here? Come away, before we are seen."

Lydia was not in the least abashed at being caught attempting to abscond. "No-one asked you to follow me Lizzie. You can go home and tell everyone that I have run away with my Wickham and I am deliriously happy about it. Only, mind you give us a few hours head start.

"And I shall still get to go to London; for Wickham is to take a house for us there and we will attend plays and assemblies every night. I shall be sure to write and tell you all about it."

Was this true? Was this another fancy of Lydia's or had they in fact gone so far as to plan to run off with each other this morning. If so, it didn't speak well for their relationship that Mr. Wickham hadn't even bothered to escort her from Longbourn.

The very man then opened the door. He was dressed in his shirt and short drawers, confused, but amused by Lydia's presence **(5)**. His wolfish smile fell and he started on seeing Elizabeth, scowling caustically in her shawl and still trying to work on Lydia to leave.

Lydia was not in the least put out by his state of undress or her sister's reproaches. She moved into the doorway and stood far too close to the gentleman for Elizabeth's liking, gazing, dovelike, into his handsome face. She launched into the story of her relatives' interference and her plan for their immediate departure. She wove a tale of true love thwarted and cruel interference by the Gardiners who, for no reason other than pure malevolence, would see them parted.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at Lydia's histrionics. Mr. Wickham's eyes grew wide and it was clear that, whatever were his intentions towards Lydia, he was not prepared for an early morning rout by a tyrannical uncle.

When her sister reached over and grabbed her arm, wishing to drag her home—Lydia began screeching incomprehensibly and dived into the doorway to hide behind Mr. Wickham. He was no more eager than Elizabeth to see her entrench herself in his lodgings and the bizarre circumstance occurred of their combining their efforts at cajoling to try to persuade Lydia back onto the street. When Elizabeth mentioned that Mr. Gardiner had been informed and was likely on his way even now, Mr Wickham himself stepped out the door in an increasingly alarmed effort to encourage his paramour to come out.

At that juncture, a movement brought the pair's attention to the main street. There stood the baker's apprentices—who must be on their way to their work—slack-jawed in amazement, at the sight of a man and woman out in public in such a state of dishabille. Elizabeth heard the ominous word 'Bennet' among their whispered exclamations.

She recognised, for the first time, her undressed state as she stood in her night dress with her shawl hanging from her shoulder. They both goggled at the boys, acutely aware of being caught out so scandalously. Elizabeth ducked through the door, which was the side entrance into an inn and Mr. Wickham followed her in retreat.

"Damn!" he cursed. Mr. Wickham was no more pleased at having been seen in an apparent tryst than she and wanted the sisters gone.

"Lydia this is not proper. You must return home before anyone else sees you," Mr. Wickham declared.

Lydia snorted in response. "That's not what you said on Thursday last in Hater's field. You said then that you did not care for convention. You said that I was your wife in spirit.

"Well, now I can be your true wife, Wiki. We were to leave soon in any case," Lydia wittered, still not grasping the depth of his indifference for her.

Mr. Wickham had gone red and glanced between the girls in alarm. Even standing in the hall in his small clothes, with his professed lover nagging him to elope, he had enough vanity to be concerned with Elizabeth's opinion of him.

"Miss Lydia, you must go," he said slowly, attempting to retain an affable manner yet be firm in his refusal.

Her efforts were becoming increasingly desperate and she clung to him, whimpering her pleas and declarations of affection. Mr. Wickham threw his head back to prevent her kissing him and his colour was now high. Elizabeth watched this and felt embarrassed for the all of them, even a little for Mr. Wickham, whose debonair reputation was of such importance to him: for it was all that he had.

He had reached the limit of his patience and now gave up all pretence of gentility. He did not look in Elizabeth's direction again. After manhandling Lydia out the door with alarming efficiency he shook her by the shoulders. Elizabeth followed, alarmed by this new display of force. Thankfully the baker's boys had left **(6).**

"Lydia. Go home. I am never going to marry you," he declared in an agitated tone.

Lydia's confusion was unmistakeable. She looked up at him for the first time without the prejudice of her infatuation. His eyes were hard and his jaw was set: there was no love or promise in his face and his grubby small-clothes and icy mien hardly tallied with the dashing hero that she had expected to meet that morning.

Lydia wilted. She visibly shrank, as confusion gave way to disbelief. Mr. Wickham released her callously and slammed the door in their faces as Lydia swayed in shock. This offered Elizabeth the opportunity to hustle her further down the alleyway and around the back of the pub. She took her by the arm and guided her by stealth out of the town.

On the way home, they encountered Mr. Gardiner. He had clearly dressed in a hurry, his harried manner and flushed face confirming his panic. He was wise enough to delay the lecture that was certainly justified in coming and concentrated on escorting the girls home unseen. They decided to take a route through the fields. Mr. Gardiner had to almost carry Lydia at times, but they eventually reached Longbourn.

Lydia was deposited in her room, where Mrs. Gardiner was ready to comfort and scold her. They were all shocked and angry, of course, but chose to carry on with their plans to leave that day—as early as possible—before Lydia could cause more trouble. They need not have worried, as she merely sat on her bed, her spirits crushed by the morning's events.

Mr. Gardiner was within a few moments of returning to Meryton to call out Mr. Wickham, but his wife was on hand to calm him and convince him that drawing any attention to the scandal would only put Lydia at further risk. He satisfied himself with rebuking her repeatedly for her foolishness.

When Mrs. Bennet entered, much later, all talk on the subject was over. Elizabeth and Jane helped Lydia to finish packing as their mother fluttered in and out, offering her their gowns and accessories. The Gardiners did eventually leave, but not before Lydia had seized the opportunity to indulge her rampant emotionalism and her wailing did not end with her entrance into the carriage as they made for the post stop. Elizabeth and Jane heaved a sigh of release, tempered, in one case, by the familiar anxiety for her reputation.

Elizabeth, thinking back later on the morning's events, regretted not having had more to say to Mr. Wickham and spent a diverting evening daydreaming about how she could humiliate him in front of the whole of Meryton, in a manner at once cutting and refined. The boys who had witnessed their encounter were a more pressing concern. She would simply have to trust that their story would not be believed, for she held out little hope that it would not be told.

* * *

Their Aunt Phillips' call to Longbourn was the first notice Elizabeth had of the gossip that was circulating regarding the event. She returned from her walk to find that Mr. Phillips had seen fit to drag himself from his office and join his wife in her visit, an ominous sign in itself.

When Elizabeth entered the drawing room her mother cried out and lunged at her, and only her own tangled skirts and Mr Phillips' surprising agility kept her from striking her daughter. She shrieked from behind her brother's arm that she would disown Elizabeth; that she had heard it all and was ashamed of her disgusting second child—that she no longer had a second child.

"I know what you've been up to!" she cried. "You were seen in Meryton—by a baker of all people—with Mr. Wickham!"

Elizabeth froze in panic. This was what she had feared. Her mind raced as she considered her options. Lydia did not seem to figure in the gossip and Elizabeth did not know what to make of that.

"Well, all your scheming has come to nothing," Mrs. Bennet continued. "Wickham has run off, so there will be no recompense there—not that he has two pennies to rub together, in any case. What were you thinking, dallying with someone so poor?!"

So that was the tale; that Elizabeth herself had been having an affair with Mr. Wickham!

"I'm ashamed of you, you selfish girl. So wanton! You could not wait to run off to see him the moment you arrived."

She turned at that point to Mr. Phillips. "Oh, but you will go after him, brother. You will force him to marry Lizzy won't you? **(7)** "

Mrs. Bennet's hope was short-lived as Mr. Phillips' blustering face, ever reddening, attested that he would do no such thing.

"Oh, if only your father were here. He would fight him; he would kill Wickham and rescue your reputation." Elizabeth did not correct her faulty logic and was only half listening. Her mind raced with the full, dire consequences of this new position in which she found herself.

"Mama, please. I have would never allow Mr. Wickham to take any liberties with my person."

"Oh, because you're so prim and proper? You were always wild, running all over the county and coquetting with gentlemen—with all your nonsense talk. But your father would not listen."

Elizabeth did not know what to say to this; she was reticent in her answers, never going so far as to insist on her innocence, mostly because she was not, in truth, innocent. In her darkest moments, she had considered herself to be just as bad as Lydia: two lusty hoydens, whose outrageous antics would put all their sisters' reputations at risk. Everything that Elizabeth was sure was rumoured to have transpired between herself and Mr. Wickham had indeed happened, just not with him. She had allowed liberties to be taken, yet scolded Lydia for her willingness to allow the same. She had lain with a man and it had been wonderful

She tried another strategy. "I do not even like Mr. Wickham. He is a blackguard and I would never marry him."

"Oh, pish posh. I've seen you flirting with him. Not like him?! That man has the face of an angel and the figure of Beau Brummel **(8)**. Why, if I were twenty years younger, I might have been tempted myself…In fact, I do recollect a redcoat encampment in my youth; there was one young captain, I recall-"

"Fanny! This is not helping." Mr. Phillips stifled her.

Elizabeth attempted again to convey her point to her mother and moved closer, speaking in soft tones. "Mama, listen to me. I did not do what these people have alleged."

"Then why is the whole town talking of it? Why is half the town still in the bakehouse listening to all the salacious details of your undergarments on display in the street?"

Elizabeth hesitated to answer. She could dispute the logic of walking around Meryton in her night dress if she was wishing to conceal an illicit meeting, but logic would hold no water with her mother. She could tell her the truth, but what good would it do now to expose Lydia? Lydia, who had had the good fortune to be stubborn and foolish, and step through a doorway at the right moment. Elizabeth would not be exonerated by it. No doubt the scandalous story would ensure Lydia's downfall, but Lizzie would be likewise tainted. She said nothing. The truth would comfort nobody.

When Mrs. Phillips left her sister's house that evening, it was without the rebuttal that she had been seeking. With no alternative tale to tell, she comforted herself with divulging to all of her acquaintance her niece's lack of remorse or satisfactory elucidation and thereby fuelling the scandal—and ensuring Elizabeth's ostracism—as a result.

Mr. Wickham, taking the bumpy journey to London, would have been excessively diverted had he known. **(9)**

* * *

 **Footnotes**

 **1)** As the recipient of a letter had to pay for the postage (before the advent of stamps), you could not just go writing to whoever you liked willy-nilly. The higher person in consequence would invite the other to write to them, if they wished to begin a correspondence. That would be up to Georgiana in this case.

 **2)** Bill Bryson writes an excellent account of beds and bedding at the time in his book At Home. Beds were wooden with a lattice of ropes to support often a number of mattresses. He cites the top ten preferable filling for mattresses as: down, feathers (for which an establishment's geese would be live-plucked three times a year), wool, hair, cotton, wood-shavings, sea-moss, sawdust and straw. As Bryson says, "When wood shavings and saw dust make it into a top ten list of bedding materials you know you're looking at a rugged age." I imagine that the mattresses in post inns were primarily horse hair, or perhaps (in less exclusive establishments) straw, given the availability of the materials.

Another interesting fact about travelling in this era is that it was an ordinary precaution to travel with your own sheets, as those provided could be dirty and damp.

 **3)** In the book, Mr. Wickham has no way of knowing of Mr. Darcy's interest in Elizabeth and, by extension, Lydia, before running away with her. He doesn't actually intend to marry her until forced/ bribed to by Mr. Darcy. Otherwise he would have made for Scotland—the only place he could marry an underage girl. Lydia's own beliefs are a little harder to fathom. Though not exactly the soul of propriety, she could surely not have been so silly that she would agree to run off with no promise of a marriage to protect her. She claims to believe that they _'should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when'_ : Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 52.

Here Mr. Wickham knows, or at least suspects that Mr. Darcy has had relations with Elizabeth. I think he would get a thrill out of bedding one of her sisters, and therefore connecting himself in some way to Mr. Darcy—a sort of warped version of brothers-in-law. It would also be soothing to his ego which is bruised by his perceived and actual inferiority to Mr. Darcy. Of course he would also simply enjoy hurting Elizabeth in retaliation for her insults.

 **4)** A paper on JASNA researching the location of Longbourn and Meryton, purports to have found a likely real location on which they were based. We know that they are both in Hertfordshire, and within a mile of each other. From the book, as well as by examination of other documents, the author supposes that Loungborn is South/South East of Meryton, with Netherfield being on the other side of it. She claims that Meryton is in fact a town called Harpenden and that Longbourn is Redbourn—a village a mile away from it: The Probable Location of "Longbourn" in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, jasna[ ]org/assets/Persuasions/No.-27/smith[ ]pdf

 **5)** Short drawers were more like modern boxers than the long-john type undergarments that we associate with the of underwear was increasing at the time, but still not expected. There is a lot written on the uniform of the British military, the cost of which was deducted from the wages of its members, but I haven't found anything on the specific requirements of the Army for underwear or for nightwear. Many gentlemen would have worn long nightshirts and nightcaps. Here I have him wearing the shirt and small clothes that he would wear during the day as his night wear—taking into account his finances and the time of year.

 **6)** In her biography of Jane Austen, Claire Tomalin discusses each of her major works. In the case of Pride and Prejudice, she outlines the weaknesses of the book, as she sees them: the caricature nature of the Bingley sisters being one such flaw. The other is the character of Mr. Wickham, who she describes as 'more agreeable than reliable'. His evil deeds occur off stage and in person he appears 'more frivolous than evil' so that his iniquities seem artificial: he is an opportunist rather than a cold-hearted villain. I have written before in my notes how tricky I find it to strike the balance with Mr. Wickham. For me, the least successful Wickhams are those that degenerate into out and out evil.

 **7)** Under the Bastardy act of 1733 unmarried pregnant women were to be taken before the magistrate and forced on oath to name the father. The named man then had the choice of paying the parish for the upkeep of the child (for at least 7 years), marrying the woman—if he was single—or a spell in prison. If he ran away, a reward might be offered for his recapture: Jane Austen's England; Roy and Lesley Adkins 2013. This, of course, relied on his being found and that the family was willing to go through the shame of having their case heard in court. Mrs. Bennet's talk about Mr. Phillips fighting Wickham, refers to duelling, by sword or pistol, which was another option for the wronged woman's family—illegal, but still popular at the time.

 **8)** Beau Brummell was an iconic figure in Regency English fashion. A friend of the prince regent, he established a fashion for understated, but perfectly fitted and tailored bespoke garments. He was famous for his fastidious dress, crisp clothing and elaborately knotted cravat. He also popularised daily bathing and he claimed he took five hours a day to dress. The style that he began was referred to as dandyism. A video of him dressing in the movie about his life can be found here [that video website address] /LrKQ0OLmnOA.

 **9)** I found an article in The Guardian that was written on the 200th anniversary of P &P's publication: [guardian website]/books/2013/jan/26/pride-prejudice-200th-anniversary

In it several authors analysed a character each. It included a sympathetic discussion of Mrs. Bennet's 'pathological response to a genuine social grievance' and rather harsh indictment of Mr. Bennet as a cruel husband and absent father. The discussion of Charlotte Lucas' lot is poignant and more probing than most blithe imaginings of her life with Mr. Collins.

The discussion of Elizabeth was very interesting. Zoe Williams describes her as, through perceived duty to her father, despising her mother and, by extension, all the women around her. She only likes women who are quiet (Jane, Charlotte, Georgiana etc.), probably by his influence. Perhaps, also, part of her reluctance to marry is the rejection of the feminine, which she perceives as weak. She wants the women around her to be meek and demure, but rejects the role for herself, just as Mr. Bennet has rejected it for her. To him she is, for all intents other than legally, his son and heir.

This interpretation puts her opinions of the rest of her family, Mrs. Bennet and Lydia in particular, in a different light. Is Lydia the true feminist of the book? Personally, I think that it's a little much to say that Elizabeth hates women, but she certainly has some of her father's feeling of superiority and cynicism.

Sebastian Faulks describes Mr. Darcy as the first depressive to be a romantic lead. He takes a very bleak view of his character and reasons for marrying Elizabeth, who he describes as 'his lifelong Prozac in an Empire-line dress…who will be good at sex, kind to his sister and will laugh at his aunt.' He believes that Elizabeth will find it hard to deal with Mr. Darcy's lack of vitality in their marriage. I think it's true that Mr. Darcy likes Elizabeth at least in part because of her energy, but I don't see that this is necessarily a negative. Isn't this what a partner should be—a complementary and compensating personality. Elizabeth herself, recognises qualities in Mr. Darcy that would complement her vivacity.

As for his being depressed, I think that's a misunderstanding of his introverted, thoughtful personality. He claims that Mr. Darcy 'doesn't do anything' and has no interests. I am not sure where he gets that idea from, other than reading into a few lines about being bored of a Sunday evening to support his idea of Darcy as a sufferer of 'chronic depression'.

Faulks also has a crack at Darcy's transformation at the end of the book. He quotes Mr. Darcy's as saying that 'Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not be repelled', as evidence that he is constantly dwelling on the past, but unable to take responsibility for his own actions (he blames his parents for spoiling him). The fact that he is silent when he returns to Netherfield is taken as proof that he has not changed.

I completely disagree with Faulks here. The fact that he will not brush off his past transgressions and insists on analysing them is proof of his capability for change, as opposed to Mr. Bennet, to whom everything is a joke, and who never will.

I like that Mr. Darcy is quiet when he comes back to Netherfield. He still doesn't know what to do with Mrs. Bennet and being paraded about as Lizzie's fiancé is hard for him. He will never be the life and soul of the party and he becomes aloof when uncomfortable. He is the same basic personality that he has always been-distant and clever, deeply feeling, but uncomfortable with emotion-and there is nothing wrong with that. Sebastian Faulks claims that Elizabeth's love is 'more, really, than he deserves', but who said you had to be perfect to be loved.

Also Faulks calls Lizzie middle class, so he clearly knows nothing.

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